Selling Your Soul
by lori-la-strange
Summary: She's waiting for Jackson. She knows he'll come back for her. But maybe he's not the only one who is angry with her... later J/L.
1. Chapter 1

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**This is my first Red Eye fic so be kind - I sort of fell in love with this movie so I had to write this!**

**This takes place a few weeks after the movie...**

* * *

"Lisa! Here's the latest! Did you see it? Have you seen it yet? Lisa!"

Something told Lisa Reisert that her good friend and fellow co-worker Cynthia, was excited.

Lisa however, was not.

She let out a groan and suddenly immersed herself with sorting out an incorrect reservation on the Lux Atlantic Hotel system, tapping furiously at the keyboard.

"Lisa?" The smaller - but no less energetic - woman bobbed in front of the reception counter as if she were the customer and waved a hand in front of her friend's face. Lisa gritted her teeth in frustration before plastering a fake smile over her face as she glanced up. She'd been doing that a lot lately. She's a people person after all. Still a people person.

She sighs, "No I haven't. And I'm very busy. So unless you want the Archer family with their mad, seven child brood to be sharing our best conference room then keep on yapping."

Too sharp. Cynthia's eyes widen in hurt and confusion at her outburst. This has been happening more and more lately too.

"Oh I'm sorry Cyn. It's just stress. I think the system is broken."_ Still upset, try some humour_, "Or possibly possessed by pure evil." She adds, gesturing wildly at the computer. This raises a little smile, and Lisa returns it in relief.

"Oh good. So you'll look then?"

"I can't really -"

"It's 'The Miami Herald' Lisa. _The. Miami. Herald_. You and me! Page two!" Cynthia's eyes widen, and her enthusiasm is getting scary so Lisa snatches the article away for fear that Cynthia might cry. Or beat her into an untimely death with the newspaper. Whichever comes naturally. And when Cynthia is _this _excited, there's simply no way of telling.

"Wow that's great," Lisa declares half-heartedly, giving it the barest glance. She's seen enough, catching snippets such as: _Local Woman Honoured... Plane ordeal... Terrorist plot thwarted... _

"Is that all you can say? Jeez Leese," Cynthia's eyebrows reach new heights. "There's a picture of Keefe shaking your hand. And look right there!" She stabs the corner of the photo happily, "There's me! Well, more like the back of my head but still..."

Her smile is getting very strained as she realises she must be starting resemble The Joker.

"And that is great Cynthia." She repeats tactfully, trying to sound more enthused. "Really, it is. So you should keep it. It's your moment too."

"Aw no I just pulled the alarm," She ducks her head in modesty which Lisa finds quite sweet really. But the effect is somewhat ruined when she adds: "I bought it for you anyway. So you can show everyone what a hero you really are."

"Oh no I don't - "

"It shows how much you rock. You should be proud of yourself so why don't you just - "

"I've already lived through it that's why, so I don't need the play-by-play Cynthia. Now will you just leave me _alone_?" Her tone is harsh and it effectively shuts her babbling co-worker up.

Cynthia visibly pales, "Oh right, of course. Well um, I should just..." And with that, she scampers off, looking guilty.

Lisa sighs once more in frustration before running her hands through her hair. Sarcastic thoughts bitterly fill her mind.

__

Congratulations. Nicely done Lisa. Driven another friend away. Is this all there is for you now? Treating friends as enemies and jumping at shadows thinking - no, almost hoping - it will be him?

She shut those lines of thoughts right down because it's too strange. Too frightening because...

Jackson Rippner has disappeared from custody.

Gone without a trace, but not forgotten.

It turns out he was a ghost anyway. There were no files on him. Nothing to link him to any deadly organisations. _And _his absence was initially covered up. Not a mention of him in any newspapers (well, at least not by name) and blank looks from police officers - "_Jackson who?" - _at the mere mention of his name. Jackson Rippner must have pretty powerful friends. He has been erased. But not from Lisa's memories. Never from her memories.

Waiting for him is the hardest part of all. The wait. She knows he'll come back for her. And she wants it to be _over,_ even though she knows she may not have the strength to fight him off this time. She just wishes he would make his move. Especially now her police protection has ended and she's moved back into her own house. Her Dad thought she had a death wish when she'd left the comfort of her old home. But that was just it. It wasn't her home anymore. She wanted her life back, no matter how short the rest of it may be. No matter how soon Jackson may emerge from her nightmares and into her reality.

And that would turn out to be very soon indeed.

* * *

She knew he was there seconds after stepping through the door.

Her first clue was the chill. Her house was inexplicably cold. Maybe a window had been left open or perhaps it was simply a breezy day. But it was _more _than that. She knew it was more than that. There was this feeling of an alien presence. An intruder. Like something that is out of place and should not be there.

Then there was that sensation. Like when someone is talking about you and they're just out of sight. She could _feel _it.

Something was wrong. Completely wrong.

Her final clue was not so subtle. A fast and powerful figure suddenly slammed her against the door, body pressed hard against hers. She smacked her head against the solid frame and in those precious seconds she used to recover he had thrown her on the floor before sitting on her body, crushing her with his surprisingly heavy weight.

"Get off me!"

She thrashed and kicked and shrieked until her voice was hoarse but to no avail. He forcefully pressed a hand over her mouth. She heard the click of the knife as he withdrew it from his belt before she even saw it. And in a moment of madness she thought incredulously: _A knife? In your belt? Really? What are you a cowboy?!_ And so with frightened and concussed eyes, she got her first look at her attacker and saw...

It wasn't Jackson.

As if it was possible to be even more afraid.

He was huge. Bald. Tattooed. He stank of sweat and leather and smiled manically at her. _How subtle... _She let out a deranged sounding giggle of fear, almost asking why he wasn't Jackson and if he had a Harley to complete the mid-life biker crisis. But then it hit her.

He was here to _kill _her.

"This is for saving Keefe you stupid bitch."

She screamed and thrashed desperately like an alley cat as he raised the knife, that terrible grin still bearing down on her.

She didn't hear the front door open.

She barely heard the gun shot.

__

Silencer…

She did notice the small, crimson hole that just blossomed in the front of Mr Psycho-Biker's head though. She saw the triumphant grin slide away in slow motion, replaced by absolutely nothing.

And she felt the entire dead weight of his body as he landed on her, the warm blood splattering on her chest.

__

Oh God.

Too horrified to scream. Too relieved to care. She thrashed once more, pushing his lifeless form off of her in a hazy stupor.

She turned gratefully to those imaginary Police Men, shaking in shock.

It wasn't the only shock.

Her saviour had shut the door and dead bolted it. Her saviour was now smiling calmly, looking incredibly handsome. She was surprised she could even notice something like that. However, her saviour was also now pointing the gun at _her_.

Her saviour was a monster in disguise.

Her saviour was Jackson.

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**Review if you think it's worth continuing :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those kind people who reviewed... This if for you.**

**Oh and if Lisa is at all OOC, blame the concussion! Let me know what you think.**

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She was hunched beside the body, shivering violently, legs turned to jelly, trying very hard not to throw up.

"It's y-you. W-why -?"

Her teeth were now chattering so hard it was nearly impossible to speak. Jackson just laughed as if this were an every day occurrence for him. _Maybe it is - _thought Lisa. He strolled over to her with an impossible casualness, looking so calm and composed. Lisa watched him like a deer in the headlights, not trusting his behaviour for an instant. He was always coiled and ready to strike. There was so much inner rage buried close to the surface. That much she remembered.

He crouched so close in front of her, mirroring her posture. And he was barely suppressing laughter it seemed. Those eyes were sparkling like glaciers, so wild and cold. A reflection of that deadly beauty inside.

Then he spoke in a huskier tone than she had remembered _(Oh. Pen...), _"Oh relax Leese. You look good in red."

It took her shocked brain a while to realise exactly what he meant. Then she looked at her formerly cream work blouse and to her horror, found it covered in Mr Psycho-Biker's blood.

She let out a strangled noise of surprise and plucked at the material desperately, falling back so that she was sitting in a sprawled position in the process. To say Jackson watched this with some amusement would be an understatement.

He laughed quite merrily; smile sweet yet not an ounce of warmth could be gained from it. He wheezed a little, trying to force the words out "Your face! That was priceless!"

She shook her pounding head and ignored his last comment. "There's a body in my living room." She whispered trying to process that fact.

"Yes there is." He answered cheerfully.

"That's a lot of blood."

"That there is." He agreed calmly.

"He tried to kill me."

"You betchya."

"And now there's you." She added, looking at his smug expression with wide eyes…

Something in her snapped. She swiped Mr _Dead _Psycho-Biker's knife from his hand and one in one lightening fast movement, had shoved Jackson back as hard as she could. Since he was crouched and simply not expecting this crazy course of action, the effect was most satisfying to Lisa. He comically fell on his back in shock and the gun fell out of his grasp and skidded across the floor. She sat hard on his chest, straddling him and then pressed the knife to his throat, feeling a rush of anger.

__

Also quite satisfying...

He still seemed infuriatingly calm, though his eyebrows were raised in amusement and his breathing had quickened, almost panting like she was. "I guess you're not going to say 'thank you' then? Bad manners Leese."

She growled in frustration and pressed harder. "Shut up chuckles. I've had a bad day - a _very _bad day. Now you're gonna tell me what the hell's going on."

He stilled for a moment, head quirked slightly to one side. "Did you just growl at me?"

She sighed, so tired and fed up of feeling scared. She could no longer summon that emotion anymore. She was emotionally numb. And he was back to Smug Manager again then. She had seen many sides of Jackson, from Charming Stranger to Murderously Angry Attacker. She guessed this must be preferable in a way, though she wondered where all that black rage had disappeared to temporarily (and that charming facade. If only that were the _real _Jackson... But she never let herself think about _that_).

She pressed the knife slightly harder against his throat since pain was all he knew. The smallest trickle of blood was exposed and she fleetingly noticed pale scar tissue at the hollow of his throat. She could feel his pulse race through his surprisingly warm skin. That was almost as disconcerting as that ever-present, chilling smile.

She cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from his neck and looking into those cold, pale eyes. "I mean it Jackson. Why did you just save me? Was it just so you could finish the job yourself?!" Her voice raised and wobbled. She was starting to feel hysterical.

He looked serious for a second which nearly fooled her. "Get off me and I'll tell you." He cleared his throat, "This may be cosy but knives aren't so pleasant _are they_?" She shivered, as his words made her scar tingle. She actually considered his offer, wondering whether she could trust him at all. Then her decision was made for her.

"Lisa, I don't want to alarm you, but you're turning me on a little."

"Ugh!" She leapt back from him, on fire and seriously irritated as he laughed in triumph. There was no point in threatening him. They both knew it was empty. Now that she was no longer fighting for her life, she couldn't kill him in cold blood. She just couldn't.

"What do you want Jackson?" Her voice was so weary. She stood over him, still gripping the knife held tensely, ready for any sudden movements.

He sat up with a sigh and she took a small step back, which made him smile. "Hey, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already." He jabbed a thumb in Mr Dead Psycho biker's direction. "It's a cliché but it's true."

"So what _do _you want?"

He made a motion to stand up.

"Uh! No, stay on the ground."

He looked completely unimpressed but stayed still. "I just want to see who our friend here is Leese."

She snorted, "Like you don't already know."

"No. I don't." He was giving her that penetrating stare again.

__

He doesn't tell lies...

"I really need to get up and look at him." He slowly emphasised each word as if he were talking to a particularly dim-witted child. His gaze is almost hypnotic and she found she was nodding reluctantly.

"Okay... But I get the gun." She edged around the sprawled Jackson and scooped up the heavy and unfamiliar weapon thinking: _this saved my life. _

No. **Jackson **saved my life. Bizarre.

She took a couple of steps back so she was leaning against the door, gun fixed on her supposed saviour who was now checking the body's pockets. He gave her that look again, with an accompanying eye roll. It was the type of look that says: _I am **so **not impressed Reisert - _and she didn't blame him one bit. She wouldn't have the first clue how to handle a weapon like this, let alone use it on someone. But that look mixed with the feeling of inadequacy caused the spark of anger to flare within her again.

"You can give me that smug treatment all you want Rippner, but you of all people should remember what I'm capable of."

He paused his actions for a second and she realised it might not be the best time to remind him about that. She'd already had her 'naa-na-ne-na-naa' childish moment when she'd called him pathetic before _(and Jack - oh boy he did not like being called that). _Did she really want to make him homicidal again?

But to her surprise he simply said, "Oh don't worry, I checked. There aren't any pens lying round." He glanced up and gave her a dazzling (-_ly false) _smile. "Or hockey sticks."

She couldn't believe he was making light of what had happened. He had practically kidnapped her, strangled her, threatened her father and herself. Then he'd tried to _kill _her and had haunted her nightmares every night since then - and appeared in some pretty twisted dreams too (_which weren't worth discussing_). She'd given as good as she'd gotten though. Stabbing him in the neck _(with a pen!),_ using that nail gun on him and generally ruining all of his plans. He had broken her down and terrorised her. But she had _won_. Why was he back? And why like this? Then she had an epiphany as he rooted through the dead man's pockets. She realised how he could be so calm. How he could be so _normal _with her.

He was simply insane.

"Got it!" He cried, pulling something out of the dead man's jacket. Lisa jumped, expecting some form of weapon. She'd almost pulled the trigger (the safety was on though she didn't know it). "Your wonderful date for the evening was a Mr David Arnold, 43 and quite a looker." He announced, reading from what looked like a driver's licence. He gestured from Dead-David to Lisa as if making introductions. "Lisa, Dave. Dave, Lisa."

"That means nothing to me and you know it." She sounded surprisingly calm to her own ears, but inside she was seriously unnerved. He was acting nothing short of manic. There was a dead guy in her house. And that blood would _never _wash out the carpet.

"Well it means nothing to me either but you're missing the point." He sounded shocked and stood up suddenly, beginning to pace. "Would the company really send a man with ID to kill you? Much less one who looked so _obvious? _Unless... they wanted it to look like a random attack that is." He paused and smiled sinisterly, "Oh they're _good_! But not good enough, they're getting reckless." He stood over the body and gave it a little kick. Lisa felt nauseous at the dull noise it made. "What an _amateur_." He added in disgust.

She was starting to shake now. "Jackson." She had only whispered it but he snapped out of his reverie and looked at her. "Who is he really? What company do you mean?"

His voice was cold, like the one he used when he discussed the Keefe plot on the plane. "Come on Leese, you're not stupid." He sighed at her blank look. "The same guys I worked for hired this charming fellow to cut your throat."

Her knees started to give out.

"That's why I didn't recognise him. They probably hired a newbie." He smiled indulgently. "I don't think killing you was the point entirely. What they wanted to do was send a big, brutal message_. Help Keefe and this is what you get. _I understand where they're coming from._" _

Lisa was having troubling keeping up in every respect. She decided to ignore that last remark. "So I suppose you were here by coincidence then?" Scepticism laced her every word.

"We won't go into that yet. Just consider it your lucky day." He was much closer now and she had unintentionally lowered her weapons, concentrating on remaining upright. He now plucked them from her grasp with ease and tucked them in his belt - all she could manage was a whimper of protest.

"Oh yeah, I was saved from Mr Psycho-Biker here just to be murdered by Mr Psycho-Plane Man." She barely got the words out, descending, feeling weak...

Jackson suddenly pulled her up by her shoulders, pinning her to the door. "Ssssh... Is that my new nickname?" He whispered softly. "I like it." He added, sliding his hands down her arms. They left a trail of fire in their wake and she wondered if that effect was part of the passing-out process. His face was inches from hers as he locked his hands around her wrists in a steely grip and pressed them against the solid surface, arms slightly raised as if in surrender. Maybe she _was _surrendering...

She wanted to scream, shout, protest but couldn't. It was only the fear - she told herself. It wasn't his reassuringly warm body. It was the concussion. Hell, it was his incredible _eyes_. Just like being held in place by a snake. One that is beautiful, hypnotic and deadly. Just one false move and he'll strike...

"Bet you missed me really." He whispered huskily and she stared at his lips, finding it hard to breathe steadily.

"Hmmm like the pox." She answered instantly, wondering whether this was actually dream or not. Was there always this mixture of lust and revulsion when she dreamt of him? Maybe. She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure which emotion belonged to herself anymore. She wasn't sure why she wanted to collapse into this monster's arms so badly...

Rough day. Crazy day.

He laughed and shoved her hard against the door again, voice now as steely as his grip. "Don't pass out, you've been through worse." His lips brushed against her ear lobe, making her gasp (_in shock/horror/lust?). _He quietly added, "And I need you to be conscious for this."

She felt a shiver right down her spine as she considered those dangerous words. Then she replied weakly without thinking: "Why? You know I won't do _that_... I mean I can't..."

He looked confused for a second. And then smiled wickedly as her words resonated, "I'm not here to do _that _Lisa." He threw her words back with relish. Contrary to what he was saying, his body was now pressed against hers in an intoxicating manner. She found she was trembling a little; _from the fear. _

Embarrassed, confused and a little disappointed for some reason, she forced herself to recall just how awful this man truly is. With a tremor in her voice she asked, "So you're here to kill me yourself then?"

Snap out of it.

He smiled almost seductively, boring into her eyes, "Kill you? Why would I want to do a thing like that?"

Then he pulled away sharply to her relief (_disappointment?)._

"We gotta leave now. Grab some clothes and we'll get going."

She spluttered with incredulous laughter. "What? Excuse me, you think I'm going somewhere with _you_?"

"_Yes _because they'll be round to make sure you're dead soon and I'd rather not be here when they come knocking, so let's hustle." He was perfectly serious, to her horror.

She folded her arms across her chest, resembling a stubborn child. "I'm not _hustling _anywhere with you."

__

I'd rather not be here when they come knocking...

"Hang on, why do you need to hide from them?"

He was now checking the windows, pulling the blinds down afterwards. He stopped dead and looked at her in utter disbelief.

"I don't know whether it's the concussion that's making you completely stupid or what, but_ they hate me_. Obviously. All thanks to you of course."

He sounded so angry that she knew there was no way she could ever trust him enough to run away with him. No way in hell.

It slipped out before she knew it. "Then why didn't you let him kill me?"

He was in her personal space again, face perfectly blank. She froze.

Why pull at that thread? Why?!

"We don't have time for this," he said flatly. "All it comes down to is your survival instinct - and we both know yours is pretty impressive - so what's it gonna be? Do you want to live Lisa Reisert?"

He held out a hand to her, face perfectly sincere.

__

Definitely dreaming...

I think.


	3. Chapter 3

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So sorry for the dramatic pause... This is for those who are still reading and who kindly encouraged me.

* * *

"Shut the window."

"But I'm having trouble breathing."

"Just shut it will you?"

"Why? A bullet would penetrate the glass anyway. This way, I die without my tongue hanging out in hyperventilation."

His grip tightens on the wheel and she just knows he's fighting a smile. She doesn't understand how she knows it - how she knows him so well. She doesn't like it at all.

He takes a deep breath before responding. "It's bothering me is all."

"Why?" Her voice cracks, she looks at his face and his eyes are fixed on the road ahead for which she is grateful (he's pushing seventy now).

"It's you. You're practically hanging your head out of the car like a dog." His lips struggle not to quirk up again and she absolutely refuses to acknowledge it as _cute_. "You're drawing attention to us."

"Like your speeding_ isn't_?"

He sighs in exasperation. "We need to put some distance between us and them. Plus it's dark now anyway, we won't get stopped."

"Exactly, it's dark. You could hit someone!"

"We're on the intersection you moron, anyone wandering about _deserves _to get hit!"

"I don't care, slow down!" She shouts it, not really expecting the response she wanted.

"God, it's like driving with your mom!" He sounds exasperated but he raises his foot slightly off of the accelerator and throws her a sarcastic look, "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Her response is equally sarcastic and she's still struggling for breath but regrettably presses the button that makes the stolen car's window close smoothly.

"Thank you Mom!"

__

What a sarc fest!

"Looked like you were trying to crawl out of the damn thing anyway Leese. Not having second thoughts are we?"

Now he is smiling, and it's not a look she likes. Not one little bit because of course she's having second thoughts (third, fourth and fifth thoughts...).

But she does not tell him this. "I think the grand theft auto brought on a bit of a panic attack if you must know." She says, breathing slowly.

__

Plus I don't exactly relish being this close to you either. Pardon me, but the last time we were travel buddies, things got a little bit uncomfortable didn't they?

His grin is still on the verge of nasty. It's like he understands this silent monologue without even hearing it. Probably does.

"The guy tries to cut your throat and you're worried about me borrowing his car?" _There's the you-are-so-stupid look again._

Lisa smiles sweetly at him, knowing there's a winning argument that she's been storing since they'd first started heading north out of Miami. "Yes I am. Especially when they can probably track it."

He swerved so fast that she yelped in surprise as he sharply pulled into a dusty motel car park and looked at her intently. "I _said _I would have to steal you one day. Now I remember why."

That surprisingly soft statement made her gulp, feeling confused. She had absolutely no idea what to say so he translated for her, rolling his eyes at her startled look.

"You're starting to think like me." He smiles in a proud manner.

"I'll _never _think like you." It comes out sharply, harsher than she intended and she waits for his reaction, expecting him to be furious.

Time froze as they locked gazes. And just for a spilt second, she thought she saw a flash of hurt on his face before it was almost instantly replaced by cold indifference.

"Well maybe you should." He muttered, looking away, "It's more fun this way."

She snorted at that, "Yes because murder and going on the lam is _the _way to live your life."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I 'murdered' that guy in your house." She flinched, knowing he was right, which caused him to grin in a shark-like manner.

She expected gloating so was incredibly surprised when he added in a cold yet oddly comforting manner, "It was him or you Leese, make your peace and get over it."

She sniffed, "I guess it's just my female-driven, emotion-based logic interfering again."

There's a tense silence as Jackson scanned her face.

Then, quite suddenly, he laughed. "Did you just make a joke about the plane ordeal?" He sounded incredulous.

"Absolutely not," she deadpanned.

"I think you did."

"No way."

"That was definitely a joke."

"You're dreaming." She realised that was ironic thing to say, since none of what had happened this night had seemed real to her. There was this consuming dream-like quality about it. And now here she was, joking about Jackson's chauvinistic ways. Had she lost her mind? She thought so, from the second she got in the car, she thought so.

Now she _knew _it.

He let it drop anyway, "Don't worry about the car either; while you were packing _so _slowly -" He sounded annoyed although she was actually quite fast, "- I whacked a spare licence plate over the original." He winked at her stunned expression.

"You just happen to carry them around with you?"

"What can I say? I'm always prepared." He grinned before opening the door and climbing out. "Come on."

She stared in confusion, "Where're you going?"

His head bobbed back in, hair flopping forward into those piercing eyes. "Lisa, it is gone midnight and unless you want me to drive us into a ditch, I suggest we get some rest don't you?"

He quirked his head towards the motel and her jaw dropped. "You think I'm sleeping in the same room as _you_?"

He snatched the keys out of the ignition - _damn!_ - and shut the door with a look that probably said 'don't be a wuss!'

__

Yeah right.

With a huge sigh, she staggered out after him, feeling stiff since they'd not stood up in hours.

He leaned on the top of the car, placing his head in his arms, watching her with some amusement.

"I am not sleeping in a room with you." She repeated firmly.

His eyebrows raised and his smile was nothing short of devious, "I suppose you have enough money for two rooms then?"

She did, she had her purse within her small travel bag but she didn't want to stop, or give him a chance to catch her unawares. Again. She suddenly felt close to tears and down-right exhausted. "Please Jackson, we could take turns driving. I can do it now and you can get some sleep."

Not impressed. "And then my ditch scenario comes into play when you nod off? I don't think so." He skulked around to her side of the car like a predator, "Unless... you're planning on ditching me? Right out of a moving vehicle? That's cold Leese."

Another jaw-drop moment. She honestly hadn't thought of that. Much. "That's something you would do, not me." He looked at her as if he'd been paid a compliment. She was getting desperate, realising he could do the same to her. "I'll sleep in the car then."

"So our agency friends can catch up and find you alone and then it's Game Over."

She shivered. It was all just a game to him.

"I can't -"

"Lisa..." His voice was soft again. She didn't trust it at all as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. It was like he had never thrown her down the stairs before. "We're safer together."

"Somehow I doubt that very much." She replies weakly.

"I'll be a gentleman, I promise." He brushed a lock of her hair back and she felt that inner conflict again. The need for human comfort warred against the fact he could be so inhuman.

She jerked away. "Do you even know what that means?"

"I think I've got a good idea." He smiled so kindly that she was nearly shocked. "Come on Leese, what are you afraid of?"

She whispered, "You need to ask?"

He frowned at that. "I'm not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, I could have _way _before now." This made her flinch so he added in a rush, "But I won't."

So that's how she found her feet marching reluctantly towards the run-down Motel that seemed to be straight out of the movie: _Psycho _(appropriate beyond belief).

She couldn't trust him. Promise or no promise, she vowed she wouldn't sleep at all that night.

* * *

She had the bed. He was on the lumpy sofa bed that just wouldn't unfold ("Call yourself a manager? You can't even manage a couch.").

The surly owner had thought they were a couple. Possibly. Maybe he just didn't give a stuff.

As Jackson handed him 50 bucks in cash - _rip off! _- she overheard Jackson mentioning that old cliché "You never saw us if anyone asks, I'll pay you double."

__

My life ladies and gentlemen! Probably thought we're having some kind of sordid affair. Great.

The dingy covers were pulled up to her chin as she lay tensely on her stiff bed. She was hyper-aware of Jackson, lying silently to her right, though he was just out of her line of vision. She could _feel _him. Hear his slow breathing, like he could never get furious.

She was also so damn _hot_. Jackson had scoffed when she'd refused to change, even in the bathroom. He was now suspiciously quiet (and half naked - _top half!_ - which hadn't made her blush _at all)._ She'd already changed out of her bloody shirt at home into jeans and a plain, light blue blouse. Her weekend outfit that was comforting and reassuring. Not so reassuring now, she was going to _boil_.

__

Good, can't fall asleep.

God, I'm dying!

Not yet you're not, but you might if you fall asleep...

He won't hurt me. He promised.

Yes, because he's a

He could have let me die earlier though and you know it...

So why didn't he?

nice _killer who _always _keeps his promises._

The warring voices of her mind were driving her mad, but they each had a point. Before she could stop herself she had blurted out the million dollar question...

"Why are you helping me?"

Silence. Maybe he'd fallen asleep? She knew better. She had the unpleasant idea that he was trying to stay awake too. She didn't want to find out why.

Just as she was doubting that assessment _(he was being a gentleman, so far..._though he hadn't said single word to her since they'd entered), his groggy voice filtered out of the darkness, making her start.

"Because I owe you."

She swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to push it, to make sense of it, "What do you mean?"

Another long pause, and then: "I'll tell you another time."

"Jackson, please?"

....

"Sleep." His voice was gentle and insistent. A part of her would love to follow that advice but...

She stifled a yawn. "Why aren't _you _sleeping?"

Muffled laughter, "Because someone keeps asking questions now - sssh."

Then the most surprising realisation hit her. Maybe, just maybe, Jackson was keeping watch. Protecting them - she hoped. Oh how she hoped that was true because now that she had wriggled out of her jeans (_can't take the heat_) she found she could sleep, she could sleep quite well if she would just let herself.

There was never really a choice about it really. She would either wake up or she wouldn't.

She thought she heard a soft: "Night Lisa..." as she drifted into unconsciousness. It made her shiver for so many different reasons.

She didn't care to examine any of them.

* * *

************

Thank you for reading, let me know if you still want more because a crazy turn is coming up...


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for the feedback, you guys are so great!**

**This is a lttle intermission to keep you reading (and to make up for the last horrific wait)**

**I mention the song "Peaceful, Easy Feeling" by the Eagles. There's couple of references to The Stand as well (by Stephen King, best book ever!).**

**

* * *

**

__

First there were the vivid dreams. Then there was his cry, jerking her out of unconsciousness.

_The feverish heat of the seedy hotel room had leaked into her mind, tinting everything in her nightmares with a red, feverish haze._

_She was so lost, so scared but she was not alone. Not alone at all._

_She was in the desert, the baking heat burned into her body and soul. There were eyes everywhere, surrounding, judging. Eyes in the dried shrubs, creatures in the cacti... She didn't know what it meant, she was so lost. Lost in that baking heat, wandering through the burnt orange sand, judged under a dark red sky full of stars and the bloated moon, bearing down on her._

_Then there was the song, in her head. That old song, probably one her Father used to listen to. This knowledge fills her with inexplicable shame. Maybe it didn't matter anymore._

_The lyrics fill the air... "I wanna sleep with you in the desert tonight, with a billion stars all around..."_

_And he's there. She knows this as easily as she knows her own name._

_His arms encircle her waist from behind. He's freezing cold but it's comforting and she leans back into his touch, sighing with -_

_Pleasure?Happiness?Despair?_

_- relief._

_"I thought you wouldn't find me."_

_"I'll always be here."_

_His words sound more like a threat than reassurance. She doesn't care. That's Jackson. Double sided, just like a blade._

_His lips are pressing against the hollow of her throat, she moans and tilts her head back. He laughs softly._

_"So cold," She gasps and shivers, "Why did you have to sell your soul?" Lisa doesn't know or care what it means, yet realising it's important somehow._

_"Who says I ever had one?" There's something so disturbing about the way he says it, so filled with good humour, yet defensive._

_She turns to him and he tangles one hand in her hair, the other slides down her neck like ice though it sets her on fire. She clings to him, pressing hard against his body and they both gasp at the contact. Their faces are inches apart._

_"I can't believe that." She whispers and he grinds against her before responding breathlessly._

_"It wasn't worth much anyway." He tries to sound detached, but can't disguise a note of sadness._

_She meets his eyes, they are just as devastating in her dreams as they are in reality. She feels like crying, they're just as empty too. "Maybe not to you."_

_That statement is loaded with heavy meaning, but neither of them is particularly interested in exploring it at this moment._

_His hands are everywhere. He says with that constant trace of humour "Stockholm syndrome's an ugly thing Leese."_

_She doesn't care what that means either because now their lips meet and she isn't capable of remembering where she first heard that phrase. She isn't even remotely capable of remembering her own name... She thinks those surrounding eyes are gone (lies). They fear him too... All she knows is him and that's a lie too._

_She breaks away, "Nothing about this is going to be pretty, is it?"_

_His laugh is devoid of humour this time and he grips her waist so hard it hurts, "So what do you want me to do about it?" he growls into her ear and she shudders, a primal reaction._

_"Kiss me."_

_So he did._

_Then he screamed._

* * *

More like groaned.

She woke in a panic, heartbeat racing for several reasons. She shook off her most disturbing dream yet and thrashed in the confusingly unfamiliar bed, searching for Jackson. She was sure she'd find dead biker man hovering over her, or at least a friend of his. But all there was the smothering heat and darkness.

She noticed that the luminous red digits on top of the cheap TV read 05:13. Then she noticed Jackson.

He was still asleep. They hadn't pulled the curtains shut so an eerie night-blue glow illuminated his figure. He was lying flat on his back and had half kicked off the covers so he was exposed from the waist up. He was so beautiful. Deadly beautiful, pale and slim but muscular. She had time to register a litany of scars on his chest and was fascinated. A small circular one was a present from her father's gun. Another angry white dash across his neck was from Lisa herself. It made her wince yet feel strangely proud... Then there were others. Many others. One across his stomach looked suspiciously like a knife wound. She knew knife wounds of course. One bumpy, criss-crossing scar adorned the top of the arm that tensely gripped the sheet. It looked like a burn mark. His other arm was raised, placed against the makeshift pillow. She could see his exposed wrist and a faded former gash across it made her shiver.

She didn't want to know how he got them.

Maybe a little.

All she knew was one thing: he was killing himself.

She definitely didn't want to know what he was dreaming of. He was still making groaning sounds now, the ones she knew had woken her. The ones that resembled sorrowful whimpers. His face was tense, eyes twitching, frowning slightly. His head moved occasionally from side to side. No peace for Jackson, not even in his sleep.

Good.

But did she really think that? She was desperately trying to shake off her dream - nightmare - as it was clouding her emotions. She was starting to feel sorry for him, and that was plain wrong.

His moans were getting more frequent and louder now, sounding like sobs. He mumbled the odd word now and again, none of which were discernable. Lisa had the strangest urge to wake him as she hovered over him. Strange because he was so vulnerable, so this was her chance. She could easily knock him out, or steal the car keys. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Getting too loud to ignore.

"Sssh sleep Jackson." She didn't move closer, didn't stroke his hair back or kneel beside him to offer comfort. This was all she could manage for now. It was far more than he deserved.

He stirred and sighed unhappily.

She shushed him softly once more but it didn't help. She could never get back to sleep with him doing this. A small bubble of bitterness formed inside of her. It was like he had done this on purpose. She suddenly felt more wary. Maybe he _was _faking this just to see her reaction?

"Jackson?" Her voice was tougher this time, it was her no-nonsense voice.

Forgetting to be wary, she knelt by the sofa bed. "Cut it out."

Of course he wouldn't respond to kindness, but this...

He woke with a start, the kind you cannot fake. Then, with hazy and fearful eyes, he grabbed one of her arms in a vice-like grip.

The other closed around her throat.


	5. Chapter 5

**As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. It means a lot to me.**

* * *

She was knocked on to her back by an incredible force that she likened to being hit by a vehicle. He landed heavily on her, winding her. Not that it mattered, she couldn't breathe anyway. He was choking the life out of her.

"Can'tBreatheCan'tBreathe..."

Lisa gagged and beat ineffectively at his death grip. In her mind, they were back in the bathroom of that fateful red-eye flight once more. Jackson had lost control that time, and had tried to regain it through violence. By strangling and bullying her. Abusing her. This time was different somehow.

This time he was killing her.

__

Come on... you always knew he would be the death of you.

"Jaack- plea-"

She couldn't get the words out. She was with the assassin now. His grip was stronger than it had ever been during the bathroom incident. He was only playing with her then. Now black spots began to obscure her vision, blooming like evil flowers. She could just about see his face, clenched, terrifying and...

__

Sleeping?

He lay on top of her, face inches away from hers, panting in her face like an extra taunt. She clawed at his face, neck and body in a last attempt to break this monstrous spell.

Then, suddenly, his whole body tensed and jerked like an electric current had run through it. He leapt away as if she were aflame. The black flowers were still in the way but she knew he had let go. Raw pain burned in her throat as she choked in fresh air, but she didn't care. She was just grateful to be alive.

Coughing and sobbing, she sat up shakily and cautiously saw him beside her.

Jackson was sat on the floor, face buried in his hands, rocking slightly. He was breathing heavily as if he were the one who had been strangled.

She didn't know what to do.

__

Guess you're not a morning person huh?

A wheezy chuckle escaped before she could stop it, causing Jackson to jump as if she had struck him.

Still holding his head with one hand her turned and faced her, a mingled look of shock and confusion on his face. "You're laughing?"

She shuffled away from him a little, before pulling her bare legs up to her chest and protectively hugging them. Jackson watched this process carefully.

__

He's a monster.

"Did I just...? Did we just...?" His voice trailed off in confusion and she couldn't bring herself look at him. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks and her throat screamed its painful protest.

"You tired to kill me." She tried to state it as a basic fact, but hurt seeped into her speech, both literal and emotional. She coughed, realising her voice sounded a little like his did just after the stabby-pen incident.

She risked a look. His expression was just... Empty.

__

What did you expect? An apology?!

His voice made her jump. "I didn't think I was killing _you_."

What can you say to something like that? "Oh so it was my evil-twin you were after?" It slipped out before she could stop herself. _Hysterical Lisa: The Stand-Up comic!_

"I strangled you." It wasn't a question. "I'm sorry... I wasn't awake."

She wasn't expecting the apology.

"Maybe we should take off anyway. Get a few more miles between us and them." He started to get up and her bitter laughter made him freeze.

"I am not going _anywhere _with you!" She exploded, "This is madness - I was mad to even consider trusting you!"

"Lisa..." He chided.

"NO! I want to go _home_. I want to see my Dad. I want to _live_!" She was trying to shout but her voice was failing and fading in agony. Her tears were falling freely now, and she hated him to see her so weak.

He was so close so fast. One minute he was calmly looking at her as if he was silently thinking - _and are _we _done yet Miss Temper Tantrum?!_ - the next he was perched in front of Lisa, hands locked on her shoulders.

She jerked away fiercely but he held on.

"I _hate _you_," _She hissed in fury and resignation, to weak to break his grip.

"I know." He said impassively. "But you have to get over this."

Some pretty impressive swearing followed that.

"Lisa! My ears are burning." She could see that arrogant look through her blurry vision and she hated him more than ever.

Too close now. He now rubbed circles against her shoulders with his fingertips in a relaxing manner. Her heaving shoulders started to loosen up, to her horror.

__

Those gentle hands nearly choked the life out of you.

"Please stop touching me." Her voice had never sounded so broken. Astonishingly, Jackson obeyed.

He stood up and pulled on a pair of trousers, leaving her crumpled on the floor. He didn't look at her.

"I did say I was sorry and believe me when I say that's rare coming from me." His voice was completely flat.

"I bet." She replied bitterly.

He sighed in frustration and knelt in front of her again. "And you can't go home to your dad. If you do that, they'll use him to get to you." He looked into her eyes and it was a surprisingly earnest look. "I erased him from their databases. That's the best I could do after that little report got published."

She was honestly stunned. "Why would you do that?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied curtly. "You just need to stay away for a while. Can you do that? Can you just keep doing that Lisa?"

She thought he must have some serious personal boundary issues since he now was brushing her tears away with his thumb, so light, barely touching. It was affecting her judgment. When he was this close - this close and touching her - she just couldn't think straight.

She didn't know the answer to his question. Did she want to keep her Father safe? Of course she did. Did she want to uproot her life like this? Of course _not_. Could she stay with Jackson after all this?

Now that was the real question wasn't it?

"I must have a death wish..." She muttered in resignation and despair in response to her own questions.

He smiled triumphantly and this time, when he touched her properly, she didn't flinch. He traced her neck softly, where the bruises would undoubtedly be forming. Her breath caught in her throat once more, before quickening.

__

That hand could clench suddenly...

But it won't.

The hand dropped away.

"I'll get you some ice before we go." He stood up, scooped up a bowl that was placed next to the TV (for the ice presumably), and headed outside, cautiously opening the door a fraction to scan the area, before continuing his pursuit for the ice machine outside.

But before he could leave she just had to ask him something. "Jackson?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised in response.

"What were you dreaming?"

She didn't think he would answer.

He exited the room, but replied quietly:

"You really don't want to know."


	6. Chapter 6

**Just thank you!**

**And since you don't have an account so I can't reply, a special thanks to Casi - I am majoring in English! All I've ever wanted to do was write so your comments meant a lot to me.**

**Not completely satisfied with this chapter... Oh well.**

* * *

He unceremoniously dumped the ice into the blouse that Lisa hadn't packed away yet since changing into a clean outfit. Then he passed the bundle to her wordlessly, without sparing a glance in her direction.

"Thank you."

Her voice was barely a croak - too dry and too sore to manage much more - but the water she had tried to consume earlier didn't seem to go down so well (if the manic coughing was any indication at all).

He barely grunted a reply as he scooped up his designer leather man-bag and shut himself away in the bathroom. Her heart sank. So they had regressed into the uncomfortable silence of yesterday then? _Great. _

She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the ice against her neck with a wince - which to her dismay, was bruising already. _Great!_

She could hear water running in the bathroom but decided to ask her question anyway, "So what's the plan now Jackson?"

A long pause. "There's somewhere we can hole up in further north." His answer was surly, just on the side of annoyed. _GREAT._

She didn't understand his mood swings or her own disappointment that was growing inside. They hadn't exactly been best buddies on this bizarre road trip anyway. He hadn't been Mister Charming either, if you toted up his creepy sense of humour and the strangling. But still...

He came out just as the sun started to rise and she had to fight not to laugh or be seriously disturbed by the similarities to that intense dream of hers. The light had an eerie red glow to it, and she definitely was feeling an icy touch, even if it wasn't his.

"Ready to go?" He pulled on that stylish dark blue dress jacket, avoiding eye contact.

"Gee thanks I'm feeling fine Jack - " He glared at her with an intensity that was frightening, "-son." She added lamely.

He swooped closer, still frowning slightly, and looked at her neck. "Lift the ice," he ordered and she obeyed.

_I always seem to obey..._

He examined it for a minute, but from a distance and without touching. He winced a little before regaining his cold composure. "You'll live."

He pulled away, scooped up their minimal bagged belongings and silently stalked right out of the room.

"Doctor Care-a-lot." She muttered sarcastically, before following, frowning as she went.

* * *

"I know cyborgs like you don't need food, but you think I could grab some breakfast?" They were on the road again, had been for about an hour and Jackson _(the control freak) _was driving.

"Next road side vendor." He promised but there was that oddly flat tone again. He gave no reaction to her quip, wasn't even speaking in full sentences anymore.

"Mmm fine cuisine but can I push it to the next cafe?"

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

At least half an hour of silence passed by, making her more nervous with every passing second. She had tried a couple more topics from the irrelevant ('hot weather huh?') to the provocative ('Can I call my dad from a pay phone?' He merely gave her a murderous look and soon she grew quiet again). Her thoughts became confused and jumbled, going round in hazy circles.

_He's ignoring me... Okay, so what? He's obviously angry with you, and I really don't know why. It could be that your neck is too damn stranglable... It could just be a girlish mood swing but either way, why should I care? It's not like I want to be friends with him. This road trip is purely for survival. He can be as sulky and womanish as he likes and I won't give a damn... No I won't. I won't, won't, won't. Why won't he talk to me?!_

She delicately cleared her throat before trying again. "Guess these cafes are few and far between."

_Lame._

Jackson seemed to think so too since all he managed in response was a grunt.

"Okay now you're really pissing me off!" She cried, "I get strangled and you're giving _me _the silent treatment?"

Her outburst sparked something within him and he visibly smothered a smile. "You hate me and want to go home. What does it matter to you?"

Her mouth opened in outrage but the counter argument caught on her throat because he was so obviously _right_. It wasn't like they were friends.

"Just... Well - just _because!" _

"That's what I thought." He smiled and smugly added, "You don't like me, but you still want me to like you."

A small noise of shock escaped Lisa, one that sounded humorously like 'guh?' Jackson had to fight not to laugh. "That's bull!" She finally managed to force out in horror.

"Is it really? I agree, it's kind of messed up. But you need people to like you, don't you Lisa? Even people like me." He looked smugger than ever now and yet still he refused to throw a look her way. It was really getting to her.

He had pushed her to breaking point. "No. What I need is to not be sharing a car with a twisted individual like you. And I think you should take me back now."

"Yeah, that's gonna happen." He laughed sarcastically.

"I'd rather take my chances at home then be trapped here with a sick freak like you!"

"I'll pretend you didn't say that." She ignored the dangerous warning note in his voice.

"Why? It's the truth. Don't you like home truths Jack?"

"No. Especially when they're coming from a messed up person like you, now shut the _hell _up!" He was getting nasty, starting to snarl, but she was past caring. He had been right and that had pissed her off royally.

"Why don't you make me?" It slipped out before she could stop it and buzzed around the car. She wished she could stuff it back in because _of course _he could make her. Unpleasant images involving duct tape and the car boot flowed through her mind.

She was wrong.

With a roar of frustration, he pulled over to the dusty side of the road right then with a screech. At this time in the morning, the road was empty (it was empty most of the time anyway, Jackson knew how to stay hidden). She should have felt scared but was too angry.

He was out of the vehicle and outside her door with a speed that was uncanny. The next thing she was aware of was him painfully dragging her out of the car by her wrist and throwing her on the floor.

"Ow!"

He leaned over her sprawled body and teased, "You want to get away from me? Well here you go Leese! Hope you enjoy the alternative." He turned to leave.

"You pig!" She shrieked, "Where do you get off acting like I'm in the wrong all the time? _You're _the one who's messed up."

He turned and regarded her with cool amusement. It made her absolutely furious.

"First you kill a guy in my house -"

"To save you."

"- Then you abduct me -"

"You came quite willingly."

"- and then you strangle me!"

"That was an accident."

"I'm so sure!" She clenched her jaw, jutting it out slightly, determined not to cry as she miserably sat on the side of the road. "And now you're going to leave me here." Truthfully, she was more upset with herself because everything Jackson had said was right. This in turn made her even angrier with him. He abused her, confused her, and made her have mind bendingly sensual dreams about him.

He was right, she _was _messed up.

And it was entirely his fault, but he just didn't care. He was laughing at her now.

He laughed and she hated him passionately as he crouched in front of her. She could have torn those irritatingly beautiful eyes out. "Aw Lisa. I won't go, not if you want me so badly."

She used some pretty colourful language then which, naturally, had the wrong affect on him. Any sane (or _normal_) member of society would have been insulted, repelled, angered even. Jackson, of course, wasn't sane.

He leapt on her. There was no other way to describe it. He pushed her back into the dust and straddled her waist just like she had done to him before. He effectively pinned her arms either side of her head with ease because she simply wasn't expecting it.

Although her initial thoughts were to panic and strike out, she just knew that was what he wanted. To see her upset and enraged amused him.

And why give him what he wants?

"Get off of me." He was surprised by the calmness of her request, a mere whisper, but a steady one. It was annoying to him in a way so he squeezed her wrists tighter, making her gasp from the pain. He liked that.

"And as for your earlier question - _where do I get off? - M_aybe I should show you?" His voice had turned predatory, she shivered.

"I won't let you." Still so calm, almost as if she wanted...

_No_.

Her eyes were so wide and her body heaved in time with her heavy breathing. He was panting too, face close to hers.

"Are you happy you have my attention now?" He whispered it into the shell of her ear, lips grazing it. The gasp this action elicited wasn't the same as that pain filled one before, "My full attention...?"

He expected her to protest, or at least some form of denial. Instead she asked with a breathless voice: "What's Stockholm syndrome?"

He blinked a few times - completely caught out - before regaining his lust-filled composure. "Aw that's real sweet Leese but you're hardly a prisoner."

"Whaa-" The question was lost in a mixture of lust and uncertainty as Jackson kissed the side of her neck. It was soft at first, almost nuzzling, breath teasing, lips so warm and gentle. She sighed; it was just like in her dream, except he wasn't cold at all. He was hot and he made her feel as if she were on fire. As if she were truly alive. It was the mixture of fear and adrenaline and something she didn't dare name... But then he touched a bruise and she jerked away in pain. He smiled wickedly. Dark hair dangling into his haunting eyes which were sparkling with mischief. But that was just a cover, hiding the raw, suppressed desire he felt inside.

"You liked that didn't you?" His hands ran down the smooth skins of her arms, raising goose bumps despite the fact it was so hot. "You're so confusing Miss Reisert." He growled, "Should I just keep doing stuff like this to you?" He pressed his mouth against her collar bone before continuing in that silky yet dangerous voice, "You hate me, but you seem to like it so much... Maybe I should have just helped biker-Dave like I was supposed to? Save us both the confusion." He grazed her collar bone with his teeth, making her forget the correct reaction and moan unintentionally instead. He smiled, but it was laced with sadness. "I don't like having...feelings."

She swallowed hard, not knowing what to say but he didn't wait for a response. He captured her lips in a kiss that was so soft she thought she could have imagined it. But that was just it, it wasn't the way she would _ever _imagine a kiss from Jackson Rippner. His would surely be hard, rough, bruising, dominating...

She wanted that Jackson. The real one. Not this seemingly calm illusion. Where was the monster? The one she feared and now felt perversely drawn to? She wanted him and he _knew _it. Maybe she wasn't the only one who'd heard someone dreaming last night...

He was testing her - no, teasing her. He brushed his lips against hers, a sharp contrast to his hot and heavy breathing. He was showing incredible restraint since she could feel how much he wanted her too. This thrilled and terrified her in equal measure.

It was driving her crazy. Just as she decided that maybe she should be the one to deepen this infuriating kiss, he was gone. On his feet, standing over her once more, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

He put his hands in his pockets and strolled to his side of the car throwing back a casual, "Breakfast?" in her direction.

She could have punched him - would have _loved _to punch him - but decided that maybe for now, breakfast was a viable alternative.

She scrambled to her feet, brushing away the dirt that was suddenly _everywhere_. It was that clay-like dusty substance that refused to go away.

She groaned, deciding that for the sake of her sanity laundry problems were a better thing to consider, rather than what had just - almost - occurred. "Okay, but you're paying for it. And the dry cleaning bill."

As she was about to crawl into the car, pride wounded and barely intact, she remembered something he had just unwittingly revealed and stopped. Cold.

_"Maybe I should have just helped biker-Dave like I was supposed to? Save us both the confusion."_

_That can't be good._


	7. Chapter 7

**Hope you enjoy...**

* * *

She considered calling the police.

She considered fighting him.

She considered running away.

But with no phone, no weapons and nowhere to run, she couldn't do any of those things. Of course she couldn't. She could only climb into that car - _that death trap - _with her would-be murderer and hide all of her confusion, doubts and fears. Not very effectively either.

"Come on Leese, you giving _me _the silent treatment now?" Jackson sighed from behind the wheel.

"With all of our issues it's a wonder we manage a sentence between us." She mumbled from numb lips, staring bleakly at the dusty, monotonous landscape as it rolled by. _So empty..._

"I was only winding you up back there you know. I wasn't... I was just messing around." He gabbled too fast for it to be convincing to himself, let alone her.

Her eyes met his and after a pause, he looked away first.

"Aw what does it matter anyway, like I care what you think." He snarled in response to her silence.

_"Maybe I should have just helped biker-Dave like I was supposed to? Save us both the confusion."_

_Who are you really Jackson Rippner? _She mused.

_"I don't like having...feelings."_

"Neither do I." She whispered out loud. And if Jackson heard her, he didn't comment.

* * *

"I bet you love pancakes Leese? You can stack and control them... Bet you love that right?"

"Lisa looked up from her matching plateful in that shabby, clichéd diner in confusion.

"What the heck are you talking about Jackson?"

He sat opposite her at the greasy white-plastic table and leaned forward eagerly, "No idea. Just wanted a reaction." At her scowl he added, "You've been annoyingly quiet since... before. I know I'm a good kisser but this is getting ridic-"

"You were there to kill me," she interrupted.

"Yes." His reply was immediate, chillingly matter of fact. It made her shudder. His face was completely shut down again. It was so familiar, the mask he had used when they were on the plane. It had first appeared when he had changed from charming stranger to ruthless manager. It hurt to see it again.

Trying not to show it, she cleared her throat. "Then why didn't you?" He opened his mouth with that same detached expression so she cut him off, "And I don't want to hear you say it was because you 'owe me'," She air quoted. "What does that even mean?"

"The truth." He spared a glance to the single, red haired waitress behind the counter.

"What made you change your mind?" She persisted, "Why all this effort? I thought you hated me?"

He regarded her with cool eyes, "Are you finished?"

"Not even close."

"Huh. Do you really think this is the best place to discuss all of this?" He gestured at their surroundings.

She looked too. Asides from the forty-odd year old waitress (who Lisa now observed was too busy filing her nails and occasionally coughing chestily -_ nice_), a little old man with a goatee and an unravelling Afghan sweater was the only other patron at this fine establishment. He was also too busy reading a paper and muttering to himself now and again, to take much notice.

"Why, who are you afraid of? Smoky Jo or that fine bearded gentleman over there?" She enquired, smothering a smile.

The cold look melted and he teased, "Maybe I should ask him to join you?"

She returned his smile before purposely switching to a frown, "Nice try - I want answers."

He folded his arms across his chest and slumped back grumpily, good humour evaporated. "What if I said I had some questions of my own that needed answering first?"

She leaned forward, feeling reluctantly intrigued, but also dismayed. Lisa just knew he was going to play her again and this filled her with a deep sense of dread.

"I would say ask away."

That did it. He slumped over the unpleasant table surface and that mischievous light was in his eyes again. Lisa thought it was the type of look a girl could fall in love with, if she didn't know what he was capable of, naturally. Or what it really meant - trouble.

Face inches from hers; he expelled his questions so quickly it was hard for her to comprehend them. This was quite deliberate though. It was after all, very distracting. _He _was being very distracting, with his hand suddenly pressed against hers, trapping it against the surface, his thumb tracing idle patterns on the back of her hand. It was a bizarre contrast, the gentle patterns and the firm grip that was nearly painful. She didn't flinch and his eyes locked hers into place.

"Why did you leave with me Lisa? Why haven't you tried to do something typically stupid, like run away or try to hurt me? Why _were _you standing over me in the middle of the night? What did you feel when I kissed you? Why don't you run away _now_? And Stockholm Syndrome…?" There were a few seconds where she wanted to answer everything. His voice was so low and urgent, almost pleading softly to her.

But then the waitress had either grasped that something wasn't right with this couple (unlikely despite Lisa's clearly visible neck bruises) or agreed with Lisa that Jackson's look was one that you could fall in love with. Either way, she interrupted the intense moment, looking directly at Jackson with fluttery eyelashes.

"You okay over here hun?"

_Southern accent too. Maybe I _did _pass out from the strangulation and this is all a dream, because it's too surreal, too clichéd..._

Jackson continued to stare intently at Lisa. "Fine thanks."

"You sure? Need a refill? More pancakes maybe?"

Lisa held her breath; sure he would snap, close to snapping herself which was strange. She should have been grateful for this interruption. But he was much cooler than her of course. He tore his gaze away from Lisa and gave Pam the Waitress (not Smoky Jo, to Lisa's disappointment as she read her name tag) a smile that was nothing short of charming.

"We're absolutely fine thanks to your excellent service." Lisa pulled a face; sure he was laying it one too thick. But Pam ate it up, preening a little and smiling broadly.

"Why thank you darlin'."

His smile matched hers (in a more smouldering, less needy way, Lisa harshly decided) as he pulled out that JR wallet and pressed a twenty in her hand. "It was really nice meeting you Pam."

He swiftly stood up, pulling on his jacket and made his exit, making sure to give Pam a cheeky wink. Lisa followed, noticing Pam gawping in their wake, calling out warm farewells that were clearly only directed at Jackson ("You should _definitely _some back some time...").

"She was _nice_." Jackson laughed as he strolled up to the car Lisa was beginning to hate. It symbolised heat and hours spent in cramped conditions, trapped next to a man who seriously confuses you.

"Shame you're not." She practically growled in reply. "It's not fair when you do that."

He turned and regarded her, looking happy but confused. "Do what?

"Turn on the charm." She answered sullenly.

Right there and then, in the little car park, he took both of her hands in his and stepped closer, a move she had not anticipated. She told herself that if she had, she would have recoiled or something. But then there was the traitorous voice inside that always seemed to add: _Would you really_...?

"Do I charm _you_?" He asked seductively.

Suddenly finding it harder to speak, she forced an answer out, and it was a bitter one. "You did once. At the airport... But we both know that was a lie."

Keeping a respectable distance between them, he looked down at her with an unreadable expression. "And there's your first answer."

Startled, she pulled her hands out of his tender grasp, "What?"

"It's part of your first answer." He repeated flatly. "I think I owed you for that."

"I don't understand, what -"

"I swear I didn't know that you'd been attacked before." She gasped at that statement and how casually it had been uttered. It was as if he had sucker-punched her. She _never _let herself think about that anymore. After supposedly defeating Jackson on the red-eye, that nightmare had faded a little in the light of her triumph. In a twisted way, Jackson had helped her, but now... Now he was tearing that wound back open again.

"How can you just bring that up? Why would you...?" Her question was lost in a torrent of pain as she tried to hold back the hot tears that threatened to overflow. She looked down at the dusty floor in disgust.

He knew better than to offer any comfort. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you even more. But you need to know, I didn't mean to play you like that." She heard him sigh and begin to pace as his shoes crunched against the gravel. "I bet I was the first guy you'd had a drink with since...Well, It. And I must have really messed up that new bout of confidence didn't I?"

She hated him. Hated his relentlessness. Hated that he was _right_. "My life doesn't revolve around you _Jack, _hard as it may be to believe." She spat out venomously.

He ignored her. "So there's your first question answered anyway:_ I owed you _Leese." His fingers were suddenly cupping her chin and he tilted her head up. She felt like biting him but refrained. Just about. "Now you can answer one of mine."

"Screw you." Was her automatic response.

He laughed, but it wasn't mocking, to his credit. "There's my girl." She rolled her eyes as if to say _yeah right_. Instead it just made fresh tears fall. He softly brushed them away with his other hand, looking impatient. This seemed to be automatic too and he looked surprised once he'd done it. He let go of her and took a step towards the car. "You're stronger than this and you know it Leese." He called out to her, recovered from his own unexpected actions.

She composed herself too, wiping away stray tears and absorbing what he had just told her. "I know," she replied eventually.

"Shall we postpone the Q&A session 'til we get to my little hide out? It isn't far now."

"Whatever you say." She replied miserably, wondering if she could deflect his questions as well as he had with hers.

He faced her before climbing into the front seat, "Lighten up Leese, or I may be forced to swap you for my true love Pam..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for sticking with this and making me continue.**

**Anyway, it looks like I've got a bad dose of the flu haha, pity me! Right in time for easter spring break. So that's why I've slowed installments a bit. But since I've got nothing else to do, you got lucky! **

**I'm in a strange mood so this is a strange chapter for you...**

* * *

"So... What do you think?" He enquired in a low voice, trying - and failing - not to sound too eager. He also looked a little hopeful as he opened the door to the musty, old log cabin.

Since it was sprouting moss, falling down, and she was hit in the face by an unpleasant odour of staleness, there was only one natural reply that occurred to Lisa."Er, I think I'm having flashbacks to that _Evil Dead_ movie."

Jackson frowned in response to that declaration, the hopeful look disappeared.

"Okay, well it's hardly house-beautiful -"

"You can say that again."

He looked downright sullen then.

"Whatever. It's not supposed to be a honeymoon suite anyway." He stomped past her into the dingy shack which left Lisa blushing, wondering why he seemed to be taking things so personally.

"...And_ Evil Dead _was set in a forest, not just off of a dusty, beaten, cactus-ridden highway." He called out sulkily, now no longer visible.

She smiled, feeling no need to take her words back, merely relieved that they had fallen back into their old routine of sniping and sarcasm. The car journey to Jackson's "glamorous hideaway" (his suspicious words, not hers) had been awkward to say the least. The tension between them was thick to the point where it became unbearable. As was the silence. All of their spoken - and unspoken - questions and desires floated in the air between them, which just made things worse. It was like something was growing between them, some kind of agreement which neither of them could acknowledge. One thing was obvious though, the tension was going to come to a head. Soon. And when it eventually does, it wasn't going to be pretty.

Lisa thought of this as she stood in the doorway, gentle breeze teasing her hair. If she joined him now, she knew there was going to be a confrontation. And it was one that would either end in a fight or... something else. She shuddered, not wanting (/_wanting_) it to happen.

"Coming in your Ladyship?" Sarcasm again.

With a sigh she crossed the threshold, firmly closing the door behind her.

* * *

"Your interior designer isn't that great, it has to be said."

It didn't have to be said. Only he was staring at her with those chilling eyes from across a rickety old table and she needed some relief. He observed her, chewing thoughtfully as they ate lukewarm burgers he had found in the freezer and that she had reluctantly heated for them in the ancient oven (after he had joked: "Fix my meal wench!").

"I know, that's why I killed him." Jackson replied, mimicking his earlier 'I killed my parents for the whole Jack-the-Ripper' thing

She gagged a little before saying, "You know, I think that joke is getting kind of old."

He grinned wickedly, "Who said it was a joke?"

She decided to ignore that.

"So... what's the deal with this place then?" She popped the remaining pieces of unappetising burger into her mouth and took in her surroundings once more. It was a log cabin, complete with threadbare Indian rugs, a beaten, dark green sofa and a rusted kitchen from _hell_. It had its advantages though - it was incredibly warm, cosy in an odd way, and the smell really wasn't that bad once you got accustomed to it.

"Sometimes a guy just needs to get away from it all." Jackson answered carefully, staring at his burger. "This place is perfect. Self running generator, and its own water - totally off the grid."

"You figured you'd need to hide from your own..." She struggled to find the right word. "Employers?" That felt wrong, distasteful, yet he smiled at her tactfulness.

"I'm self-employed Leese. I just go where there's money to be made. They hire me because I'm the best." The flat, business tone was back but she didn't care. It was the first piece of information he had willingly volunteered about himself, even if it was very vague. But she couldn't stop herself from spoiling it.

"So killing Keefe's children was just business to you?"

"Yes." She gasped at his lack of hesitation and pushed away from the table.

"You're sick."

"Deal with it." At her stricken look he elaborated, feeling the need to defend himself (which was a strange sensation for him. And a new one). "My business was with Keefe... The children were just -"

"Collateral damage?" She interrupted coldly, expecting anger, or that mechanical look of his.

He flinched. He looked away. He almost looked... Remorseful.

__

You wish Lisa.

"I'm not a child killer." His voice cracked a little. But when he continued, it was smooth once more. Perhaps she imagined it. "I didn't do it."

"Thanks to me." She whispered, confused by his reaction.

Then the anger came.

"Yes, thanks to saint fucking Lisa." He snarled, standing up to grab her tightly by the shoulders until she winced.

She told herself it was ridiculous to be upset by his words and actions. It was Jackson all over. She should expect it. So she channelled her hurt and confusion into some anger of her own.

"What is your problem?" She near shrieked. "You didn't want to kill Keefe's children but you're angry at me for stopping you? I don't get you."

"No one does, don't you see that? _No one does_." He shouted back, shaking her like a rag doll.

She hit him in the chest. Hard. Repeatedly.

"Now you're mad at _me _because you have no one, aren't you?" She laughed at him incredulously, furious and feeling spiteful because of it. "You're pathetic."

He lifted his hand as if to strike her but hesitated, near throwing her into the table instead. She landed hard on it on her back, causing it to collapse as she cried out from the impact.

"I'm pathetic? Who's the one who feels more comfortable with their would-be murderer than their _actual _friends Leese?" He taunted her, laughing from his vantage point from above. She should have been frightened. He looked manic again. Wound up til the point where he was shaking. Instead of running or screaming or attacking, she just had the mad urge to grab his legs so that he would fall too. An urge that she gave into before she could stop herself, before she knew she had even moved. He fell heavily like bricks, grunting as he hit his ribs on stray pieces of wood beside her. But he had fallen with an almost comical expression of surprise that was very satisfying to Lisa. Too satisfying. "You bitch! Why are you...?"

He looked murderously angry as he tried to stand up, but stopped suddenly, examining Lisa's expression as she gave into fresh peals of laughter.

"Are you _high_?" He yelled, rage disappearing slightly, replaced by sheer confusion in his voice, causing her to laugh even more. Their legs were all tangled together and he looked so out of his depth that it was hilarious to Lisa.

"Are y-you b-bi-polar?" She gasped out between giggles, in reference to his mood swings.

He sat up, studying her with a look of abject bewilderment. "You're one to talk!"

That made her double over because he was right of course. She'd just had a brief but heated argument with her would-be killer which ended with her being thrown into a table, that was now shattered all around them. And now she was laughing? Now she _was _laughing even harder because of a stray thought that had popped into her mind when she'd thought of the table.

__

Don't suppose there's an Ikea nearby Jacky-boy?

She was gone again, spluttering helplessly because it was either that or cry. That's how they remained for nearly five minutes. Her laughing hysterically, and him observing her with wider than wide eyes. She thought her would kill her. He hated to be laughed at, but for some reason he found that watching her was a far more enjoyable alternative. Eventually, she managed to wind down, his silence too unnerving for her liking. She choked out a question to her subdued attacker, now hiccupping from the effort of her outburst.: "I'm mad aren't I?"

Jackson stared some more, mind concentrating on the perfect reply. He shifted closer and smiled, "Yes I think so," he eventually responded quietly, before pulling her to him and covering her mouth with his.

There was the real Jackson. The one she had wanted earlier. It was a rough kiss, a kiss that good girls shouldn't enjoy at all, but she did. His hands were in her messed up hair, digging in, pressing her mouth to him so he could kiss her harder. His tongue slid into her mouth deepening the kiss until she felt like sighing or screaming because this was clearly fuelling her madness. She realised she wanted him, really wanted him. And that was madness. He nipped at her lips and that was the only indication that he was holding back at all - he didn't draw blood. Yet.

His hands slid down her arms and gripped at her waist, winding her closer until she was in his lap, legs wrapped around his body before she could stop herself. They were closer than they had ever been before. Closer than the red-eye times, closer than all those moments when they had fought each other. But not close enough as she discovered when she bucked against his hips involuntarily. His grip on her waist tightened so that she couldn't do it again and he laughed against her swollen lips, making her shiver.

One of her hands lay against the flat of his back, pressing his body to hers. Urging him. The other traced his jaw line instinctively, cautiously. Everything about him was so sharp. Sharp and beautiful. He shifted against her, kisses becoming more frantic and desperate as the fire spread between them. Her hands moved of their own volition between their heaving chests to lower. Just as she thought she couldn't take the heat any longer...

He pulled away.

She made a noise of protest but just about managed to stop herself from saying _no _and begging him back. He smiled, knowing this somehow.

"Bad Leese, getting ahead of yourself." His voice was teasing and more huskier than she had ever heard it. It made her shudder and her hands were in his messy yet surprisingly soft hair and pulling his face to hers before she could think about it.

But he pulled back again: "No," he laughed softly, brushing some of her hair back.

She wasn't going to be toyed with anymore. Who did he think he was? Who did _she _think he was? He was a psycho. She shouldn't be doing this. Reality finally seeped back in. She shrugged away from his grip and tried to move away from his lap.

He pulled her back, arms locked around her shoulders, mouth now kissing and grazing her collar bone as he remembered she liked that.

"Jackson no I don't ahhh..." Her hands were on his chest, meaning to shove him away, but he was far too distracting, kissing along the line; hot, wet mouth slowly travelling lower, like some form of wonderful torture.

Once he was back in control, and had subdued the protesting Lisa, he pulled away again.

She almost said _'you're killing me!' _out loud, but then decided it was far too ironic. And he'd just enjoy hearing it too much anyway.

He watched her with heavily lidded eyes, deciding that she had never looked more beautiful, breathing heavily, lips swollen, hair a total mess and frowning of course... All for him. Only him.

"Now that you're paying such good attention..." His hands were somewhere else now, making her gasp, "I think it's time we continued our little question time, don't you?"


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm not _that _evil!**

* * *

_"I think it's time we continued our little question time, don't you?"_

They stared at each other in silence, catching their breath. Jackson had his trademark Smug Look (as Lisa had come to think of it) back in place once more. Lisa remained in his lap, though she had moved away a little, studying his handsome face in the dim light, since she was confused by his sudden change of subject (and admittedly, a little frustrated too).

"You've got to be joking." She said flatly, although she had already decided from his expression that he wasn't.

He responded with a smile that was so sweet that she was instantly wrong-footed. And conflicted. Who was this man she was with now? One side of that smile suggested that this was just a game to him - that e_verything _was just a game to him. That was one interpretation, but she was torn. The other side of her wanted to respond in kind to its sweetness. It was the same traitorous side that wanted to either kiss him again, or to say something that he would consider amusing, just so he would keep smiling. Because his eyes didn't look so cold when his smile was so genuine. _If _he was being genuine... There were so many layers; she just couldn't understand him at all.

Instead she looked away uncomfortably, and stubbornly folded her arms across her chest with a frown on her face.

"You're adorable." He stated in a soft and teasing voice that made her shiver unintentionally.

"You're a git." She stated, using one of her Father's favourite insults. "And don't be so patronising."

He ignored that, giving her a look that said in Jackson-speak: _'Suuure_. _Lighten up Leese.'_ She was becoming quite used to his body language, which was quite worrying really.

"Question One: Lisa Reisert," he said, imitating some kind of announcer. This was too bizarre so she tried to shuffle away. "Nuh uh-uh!" He tutted shook his head, locking his arms around her shoulders with unsurprising strength that made her breath quicken again.

"I'm not answering questions in your lap you ass." She managed to gasp out, lost in his eyes that were so beautiful and full of humour.

He kissed her firmly on the lips once more, knocking the breath out of her. It was a slow kiss that she felt all the way down to her toes. This was bad.

She broke away in shock, "Okay you have to stop doing that."

"Why?" He asked calmly, as if there were nothing at all strange about a tormentor and his victim sharing a lip-lock. That was what Lisa thought that calmness implied anyway.

"Because..." She considered it for a minute, face inches apart from his, "I can't think straight when you do."

"Really?" He looked incredibly pleased with himself, fingers gently trailing through her hair. She rolled her eyes.

"Like you didn't already know that." She muttered.

"Well maybe I had inkling." He teased, "But that leads me to my first million dollar question: Just what _do _you feel when I kiss you?"

That made her squirm, looking away from his eyes and attempting to break away (unsuccessfully).

"Oh come on Leese, humour me. Sharing feelings is healthy as I'm sure your therapist has told you."

_Patronising git._

"_Nothing _about this is healthy." Her voice shook a little and she suddenly had the strong urge to cry.

Without warning, he drew her closer. His lips pressed against the top of her head and she rested against his warm chest. Well she would have, but this contact made her stiffen. It was as if he was hugging her, but she knew what it was really meant to achieve. He was manipulating her emotions to comfort and then seduce, though her answering the question was clearly his aim for now. She knew it was manipulation because she could feel him smile. She tried to wriggle away but he held her fast.

"Come on Leese." His voice rumbled inside his chest. _Damn him_! He knew what he was doing alright. He was comfortable, warm and he smelt _really _good (she briefly wondered what kind of man packs such a gorgeous smelling aftershave when he's on the run anyway?). She could hear the comforting rhythm of his steady heartbeat, as if it were trying to remind her he was human after all. She sighed and blinked back the tears, relaxing slightly. Her body may have craved his in an animalistic way before, but there was nothing like being held by another person, even if it was Jackson Rippner. He was right; she _did _need people to like her. And if she could temporarily forget the fear and horrendous history between them, then this was just what she needed.

"Tell me and I'll answer one of yours." He whispered into her hair enticingly, inhaling softly.

It was then that she realised that her treacherous arms had found their way around his body and she was hugging him back. Not that he was really hugging her. It felt too much like being restrained and he didn't wrap his arms around her like a lover would. Apart from that ceaseless grip across her shoulders, and his lips in her hair, he made no other contact. It was an illusion of comfort. Everything about this man was an illusion.

She jerked away, feeling foolish. Jackson looked a little uncomfortable himself, she noticed, but the trademark look soon replaced it like a mask, snapping back into place.

_Interesting..._

"Tick-tock Leese..." He said sharply, disrupting her thoughts.

"I don't know. You probably already do though so what's the point?"

"Lisa." It was a warning.

"Fine!" She replied, a little dramatically which made him smile. She swallowed, hesitated, then let it pour out. "I feel... Hot." He looked pleased with that. Very pleased. "Hot and nervous and you know..." She hesitated, figuring that it didn't need saying. "But... The truth is, I didn't know it was possible to feel so scared, but safe at the same time. But when you kiss me...I think that's what I feel." She swallowed nervously as his face became expressionless. "Is that okay with you?" She didn't know why she even asked that, nervous yet angrily, just feeling generally defensive.

He stared at her, looking like he couldn't comprehend what she was saying, then his eyes clouded over. He shook his head. "No... No, you can't - why would you? I don't..." She had never heard him sound so unsure of himself. Never seen him look so wrong-footed and anything less than confident. He was struggling to find the right words and failing, shaking his head in confusion.

"Why would you?" He repeated in disbelief, "Safe?!"

"Jackson?" She automatically put her hands either side of his face and he froze, looking at her with the same muddled expression, seeing nothing but concern in Lisa's. "It's okay..."

She pulled his lips to hers this time, just wanting to erase that awful look. The one that suggested human kindness was alien to him. The one that suggested he was going to get angry again. She moulded her body against his, trying to coax a response from the friction. He gasped, pulled her closer. The next minute was lost in a wonderful blur that ended badly. His hands were everywhere, setting her on fire as they passed over bare skin, grazed under her shirt as if they belonged there, making her jump and gasp with pleasure. But when she untucked his shirt and slid her hands under to reach that damaged yet surprisingly smooth skin, he jerked back as if scalded, breaking the contact that she missed immediately.

He pushed his own hair back shakily, regrouping. "This is meaningless." He choked out, still sounding unsure - it sounded more like a question to Lisa, but she couldn't contain a flinch. He stood up suddenly, lifting her with him, then placed her on her feet and moved away.

"What... What did I do wrong?" She hated how weak her voice sounded but she was genuinely baffled. She was shaking and desperately unhappy. She had expected a triumphant, cocky reply, not this. She feared he was having another one of his mood swings, that he may get violent because she had given him the wrong reaction or something.

_He can't understand your feelings. That's all. No one has ever said something like that to him. That's it and you know it. But what else was I supposed to say? _She wondered to herself.

_What he wanted to hear. _Her mind countered.

_And what's that?_

_Something stupid. Like he makes you horny or whatever._

_That sounds like Austin Powers._

_It's the truth._

_Shut up._

_A less confusing truth for him anyway._

_I thought I told you to shut up?_

Jackson had been pacing during this entire imaginary exchange, but she now noticed he was observing her quietly, head tilted slightly to one side in that quirky way of his.

"What?" She asked timidly, hoping he was now less agitated.

"You." He replied calmly and she breathed a sigh of relief. "When your eyes go all distant like that, I wonder what you're thinking about."

She smiled a little, still trying to calm her breathing down to find a sense of normality again (he could _really _kiss), "Well it's my question time now right?"

He gracefully moved towards the hideous couch and sank onto it. "Sure, if it's in my interest to answer it."

She considered her questions carefully. She desperately wanted to know why he had reacted so badly to her answer before. But now he seemed so mellow, she didn't want to risk upsetting him again. _I know..._

"What were you dreaming the other night?" She slowly walked to where he was sitting and crouched in front of him on the uncomfortable wooden floor, wincing as she did so. It felt like he had bruised her back from his little temper tantrum before. Funny how she hadn't noticed it when he was holding her... Anyway, she decided against joining him on the couch for two reasons. Firstly because he wasn't her therapist and she also didn't trust either of them enough to sit close to him. She didn't like to think of what would have happened if he had not interrupted their previous passionate kisses.

He placed his hands in his lap and leaned forward a little. "Well..." She leaned nearer too in anticipation, "… Err, pass!"

"No! You can't -"

"You _really _don't want to know." Jackson repeated.

"I do want to know why you nearly killed me." She insisted stiffly.

He sighed, sitting back. "I didn't do it on purpose! Not this time anyway." He added darkly.

"Tell me."

His expression was shut down, but to her surprise, he answered (_sort of) _in a cold voice. "I thought you were the person in my dream."

"You dream of killing people?" Her voice was horrified despite the fact that this kind of thing was only to be expected from Jackson.

"No." He paused, looking away to her relief. Those eyes were a lot to handle. "Actually, it was a very old nightmare and I was defending myself."

She shuddered. His tone suggested that he didn't want to continue this subject anymore, but she was consumed by curiosity.

"From one of your customers?" She probed delicately.

"No." Flat refusal was contained within that single word. As was a world of pain. She had the mad urge to wrap her arms around him but resisted.

_"A very old nightmare..."_

_You never consider what made the monster that way in the first place. _She thought sadly. _If he's telling the truth that is... He could just be acting vulnerable to gain your trust._

But deep down she knew better than that.

"And I believe it's my turn to ask a question now..." He snapped her out of her reverie, no longer sounding sad and thoughtful. Just mischievous.

"Okay then." Lisa replied carefully.

"Why were you standing over me in the night anyway? Because I gotta say, it's not the best idea. You were just asking for it." His eyes lit up with child-like curiosity. "Were you going to do me in?"

"What? No!" She was visibly startled by the idea. Mostly because the thought had occurred to her briefly, but she just couldn't act on it. She could only stand over him, staring at that hypnotically beautiful body of his, wanting to stop him from making those pitiful noises in his sleep because she couldn't stand it. Also wanting to trace those scars of his and...

She remembered her dream and blushed.

"Well?" He stretched the word out, so it had multiple syllables and she realised she still needed to give him an answer. But she couldn't tell him the real reason. He might become manic again and she didn't want that.

"I was sleep walking." She blurted out in a face-palm moment.

His face darkened and she knew straight away that lying to him was a mistake. "You know something funny?" His manner was polite, with an undercurrent of danger. "I know you're lying, I just can't figure out why."

She swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He slowly sank to his knees so he was on the floor in front of her. She was reminded of a snake once more and tried to cringe back as he took her face in his hands. There was nothing romantic about the gesture at all. It felt threatening, an effective trap since his eyes were so hypnotic.

"You're not such a good person are you Leese?" He sneered, tracing her full lower lip with his thumb. She made a noise of protest, "Ssssh... Why don't you do us both a favour and just stop lying? I've been nothing but honest with you so far Leese." She laughed then, finding the strength to pull away.

"I _still _know nothing about you so that's rich!" He nodded patronisingly so she pushed on, "It's true."

"I have size 11 feet. I had an abusive bastard of a Father. I speak 9 and a half languages… I think you look cute in jeans," he teased, trying to cover up that second revealing fact that had somehow slipped out. He was surprised himself, but covered it well. "Now _your _answer…?"

"Jackson…" She sighed, not knowing what to say, overwhelmed by those facts that could have easily been made up. But somehow she doubted it.

"Lisa?" He replied pleasantly, expectantly.

"I wanted you to stop muttering in your sleep is all. It sounded.." She hesitated.

"What?" He asked flatly.

"Too painful." He looked absolutely astonished. "It was too much."

"Well isn't that interesting?" He didn't sound like he appreciated it. His eyes had that far away look which was slightly worrying, but she took advantage of it.

"Now you tell _me _one thing, why the change of heart Jackson? Why didn't you just kill me in my house?"

"Would that have been preferable to you?" He threw it back coldly.

She frowned, confused. "No. And you can't answer a question with a question."

"I've already told you it was because I owed you." He grinned smugly and she was relieved to see that he had recovered..

"And I think you're a very good liar." She declared, unsure of where this was coming from. He obviously thought so too, giving her a look that seemed to say '_well duh'_. "I mean, I think you're bending the truth a little."

He raised his eyebrows, silently questioning her. "Go on."

"Well... You said earlier that the company that tried to kill me hates you too. Now you're saying they sent you and biker Dave to kill me together... That just doesn't make any sense." She concluded.

His eyes positively lit up. "You are a clever girl - good memory too."

She was dazzled a little, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he sighed. "Both things I said were true. I was supposed to redeem myself by killing you." He grinned sheepishly, "Now they'll _really _hate me."

"Oh."

"But I owed you." He repeated, emphasising the words so that they had a hidden meaning she couldn't decipher. "I made a snap decision and killed biker Dave instead."

"Which I appreciate." Lisa cut in.

He frowned a little, "Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't trust them anyway. They really wanted Keefe to die so anyone who had a hand in saving him is dead meat."

His words chilled and resonated within her mind.

_Anyone who had a hand in saving his life is dead meat._

_Dead meat._

_Dead._

"Dead?" She gasped and the world swam in front of her, tilting sickeningly. She eventually realised it was because she was almost fainting, falling forwards. She couldn't breathe right, breath catching in her throat as fear gripped her heart. She felt sick...

Jackson was holding her within seconds.

"Hey?" He sounded confused and a little disgusted at her display of weakness. "It's okay you know? They won't find you here."

"_Anyone _who had a hand?" She asked desperately, eyes wide with fear. She gripped his wrists in a momentary role-reversal. "_Anyone_?" She was shouting now, shaking his arms ineffectively.

"Pretty much, yes." He winced, "What is your problem anyway? Your dad's safe so -"

"Cynthia?" She choked out frantically, "What about Cynthia?!"

"The girl who pulled the fire alarm?" He enquired coldly. She knew the true answer from the dead look in his eyes.

"No!" She gagged. "No! We have to help her!"

"We'd never make it back on time."

"No. No... No!" She repeated it hysterically, springing to her feet and rushing to the door.

He was like a dark force of nature, so fast. He grabbed her from behind by the waist and spun her round forcefully so that she faced him.

"They'll go for her in a few hours, then it's Keefe's turn tomorrow. They want to scare him first, create a media flurry." He listed coldly. "You can't stop this."

"But you saved _me_." She insisted. "You can help her too."

She saw multiple emotions flash across his face: confusion, regret, anger and finally his cold favourite. The look that said he had already made his decision.

"Why would I do that?"

"You knew all along didn't you?" Her lips were numb from the shock and she felt nauseous. She had kissed this 'man' in front of her, and he _knew_. He was going to let her friend die.

"Collateral damage," he replied, throwing her hurtful words back at her.

She slapped him hard. He surprisingly didn't react but his lip started to bleed.

"You're sick - I can't believe I ever felt... I have to help her!" She cried shoving him away forcefully.

"No. You help her, you die." He stated, horrifically calm.

"I have to!" She hit him in the chest. "I have to at least warn her. Don't you have a phone?"

"No, they would have used it to track me." He added bitterly, "And you stole my last one anyway remember?"

"I DON'T CARE!" She shouted, "I'll call from the diner..."

"They'd have tapped her phone line like they did with yours." He shook his head. "If you call, they'll strike, and then they'll come for you."

She shook off his disturbing words. "Then the police..."

"They won't help you." He sneered, sounding amused by her naivety. "Why'd you think they let me go?! The Company has them eating out of their hand."

"Then I'll go there myself."

She rushed to the door, feeling that steely determination she'd felt when it had been her life that was in danger. When Jackson had been trying to kill, not protect her. She scooped the keys he had carelessly left on the side table nearby. It seemed she wasn't the only one who had been letting her guard down lately.

"No!" He roared it, tackling her to the floor, pinning her down with less ease than before because she was furious, thrashing like a wild cat. But still she landed hard on her stomach. "What's the plan Leese? You gonna go there then die too? Big help! I shouldn't have told you, I should have just lied."

"No you shouldn't. Act like a fucking human for once in your life!" She wept, pleading into the floor. "Help me..."

He flipped her over, and they both froze, locked in each other's eyes as pain crossed his face. "No I can't."

"You can," she whispered, "You're not a bad person. Not completely. Don't let this happen."

"Yes I am." He emphasised slowly, touching her face with shaky eyes as if to reassure himself that she was still there. "I didn't drag you all the way here to see you throw your life away for some receptionist."

Jackson cried out in pain as she kneed him forcefully in a very sensitive area, rolled him off of her and scrambled to the door. He rolled on to his stomach, grunting in agony.

"Lisa... Please?" She spared him a glance back. His eyes were wide and gentle, pleading. She felt a rush of feeling towards him, a mixture of guilt, revulsion and something that was a lot like love.

"I have to." She insisted, voice breaking.

"Stay." The rest didn't need saying. Stay with him and learn to love each other. Forget everyone and everything else. Just explore each other's bodies every night, give into every dark urge and _live_. It sounded incredible. It sounded horrific. It sounded tempting.

But it was just wrong, like some twisted version of a fairytale gone bad.

"I can't." She whispered, and then was gone.

* * *

**Well... Maybe I am just a little!**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: The language is a little rougher in this chapter so beware. Jackson isn't too happy...**

**Sorry for the pause. I stupidly wrote it on FF, clicked save, and it ERASED half of the chapter. I nearly cried.**

**It contains elements of Psychiatrist Frank Ochberg's teachings too.**

* * *

He heard the car engine growl into life followed by the sound of crunching gravel as it sped away, carrying Lisa with it.

_Good. Fuck her. Forget her. She's nothing to you. Why do you care so much? She probably just made damn sure that you can't have any children in the future anyway. Babysitting her was a waste of time. Let her rot. Hope they carve her up..._

He rolled on to his back with a wince, the intense pain in his crotch spreading to his lower stomach, throbbing sickeningly. He stared apathetically at the ceiling, observing the wood grain patterns and shadows. He tried to listen to that vicious voice in his mind, the one that always told him what he wanted to hear. But there was just a slither of humanity inside that always betrayed him at times like these. That tiny spark that burned inside, that Lisa had first ignited on the plane and then when she had kissed him.

_"I didn't know it was possible to feel so scared, but safe at the same time. But when you kiss me... I think that's what I feel."_

He shook his head dispassionately, dismissing Lisa's words as they tormented him in his memory. He forced himself to foolishly decide that they were only said to throw him off-guard, to confuse his mind. It had worked alright. It had scared him senseless.

_Why do you care so much anyway? His mind wondered lazily._

"Shut up." He groaned out loud, arguing with the traitorous side of his mind.

_She makes you feel..._

"Right now, all I feel is queasy, thanks to her." He spat out venomously, before letting out a pained laugh over the absurdity of this situation.

_Liar._

"Fuck you." He spat, using the back of his hand to wipe blood away from the corner of his mouth.

_Why don't you help her?_

"Why don't you shut the hell up?" He countered childishly, rubbing his eyes as if suffering from a migraine as opposed to an attack of conscience.

It worked for a little while. He just lay there, regrouping, trying not to remember that last look Lisa had given him. It was filled with hurt, betrayal and... acceptance. That was the part that threw him the most. Was she accepting the fact that he was a bad person? That he was empty and inhuman? Or was it a good thing? That she had finally accepted him for what he was - however flawed it may be?

_She kissed you. She accepted you._

"No." He muttered, sounding unsure. "That's just sex anyway... Which is good. That's all I could ever give her."

_You could give her more. You saved her. Maybe you should do it again..._

"No." This time he was more firm, shattering the voice's teasing, false hope. Once Jackson Rippner made a decision, he had to see it through to the bitter end. That's why he had returned for Lisa with the intent to kill. That's why he had intended to finish her off originally - but he hadn't.

_Hmm... I wonder why?_

He sighed in frustration. Despite the fact he was a master of judging human behaviour (except for Lisa's apparently), he was never one for self-analysis for one reason alone; he knew he wouldn't like what he'd find. There were a few things he'd always known, and he lived his life by them. One: If there's a God then he is truly screwed, so he sees prayer and hope as pathetic traits. Two: Staying alive is as good as it gets, so sell your soul to the highest bidder and don't ask too many questions. Three: Never question your own motives. That way lays madness. And four: You are all that matters. Even if deep down, you truly hate yourself - stay alive.

How was it that one crazy (or so Jackson thought - who would willingly kiss someone who tried to kill them?) hotel employee could make him question his whole outlook on life?

"Stockholm syndrome," he whispered, remembering how she had mentioned it during their first violent kiss.

_Stockholm syndrome... _His mind sing-songed childishly: _The mystery of loving an abuser._

The text book, photographic memory side of his mind then decided to chime in helpfully: _The psychological phenomenon wherein a hostage has positive feelings towards their captor. Often in response to a kindness, they see them as giving life, merely for not taking it away._

"A primitive gratitude for the gift of life," He sneered, hiding the unease he really felt inside.

_Maybe it works both ways...?_

"Maybe it does, but not for me." He sounded pretty certain.

"She's dead to me now." Very certain.

* * *

"Oh God, oh crap, oh no..." Lisa groaned too, chanting her fears like a mantra as she sped back down that frustratingly long highway, back to civilisation.

_I'm never going to make it back... Maybe I should ring her? Jackson could have been bluffing about Them tapping her phone. And the police…?_

But she knew she could never risk it, so she drove onwards, past the grungy little diner, not notching it was closing for the night anyway.

_Right, things are going well. I've got at least a four to five hour drive back if I really floor it, I'm not sure I know where I'm going anyway (why didn't I pay attention?!), and I have no weapons or plan to speak of._

_Excellent._

She let out a little bubble of hysterical laughter, trying desperately hard not to cry. She had decided that the most ridiculous part of this all was the fact that Jackson had actually hurt her feelings. But what else could she expect from him? Cynthia meant nothing to him. And now she was pretty certain that she herself meant nothing to him either.

"Damn you Jackson. Things would be a lot simpler if you'd stop trying to save my life." She muttered, vision blurring a little.

She had convinced herself he was human, for reasons completely unknown to herself. Maybe it was because he had saved her life. Maybe it was the fact she had seen him in pain as he slept, looking so vulnerable. Maybe it was that glimmer of something else hidden within those crystal eyes when he _really _smiled at her...

"Maybe it's because he can kiss like nobodies business, but you're on your own now and you were _wrong_." She scolded herself mockingly, completely shutting down those painful thoughts, focusing on more important matters at hand.

_Right focus Lisa, focus. You're driving an assassin's car... There must be a weapon hidden within it somewhere. Cynthia will be working at the Lux until gone midnight... I should just about make it back in time to intercept her..._

_What if someone's waiting in the staff car park for her?_

She actually jumped as that thought occurred to her, hands tightening on the wheel in fear. Not just because of its cold practicality and sinister implications, but because it had sounded like Jackson.

_Then I'll run them down like I did before._

_Good luck with that._

Now her own mind was using Jackson's own favourite brand of sarcasm against her.

_Great. Maybe after all this is over they can just lock me right up in a straight jacket. That sounds wonderful!_

Her hands were now shaking with anticipation. It seemed unlikely that she would make it back on time at all, and that was unacceptable. Cynthia was her only friend, and selfish as that may sound, she didn't want to lose her only link to the real world. Asides from her father, Cynthia was a ray of light in her life, standing for all that used to be good in it, until Jackson corrupted her.

"No wonder he doesn't want to help me." She whispered bitterly. Jackson would just love to have her all to himself, dragging her further into the darkness with him.

_But that's not going to happen._

* * *

"Right I'm checking out now Ruth. I brought you some coffee, just how you like it." Cynthia beamed at her co worker who was replacing her for the night shift, informally called the 'grave yard shift' by The Lux Atlantic receptionists.

"Thanks." Ruth yawned, accepting the mug gratefully. She hadn't been working at the Atlantic for very long, but she liked Cynthia just fine. True, she could be a little overly anxious, over the smallest things, but Ruth figured that was only to be expected. She had taken this job as a favour to the manager, who was having trouble finding staff lately. Who would have thought an explosive assassination attempt would be so off-putting? Especially an unsuccessful one.

Ruth smiled at her own wit, deciding that Cynthia's bubbliness outweighed any major character flaws.

"Lisa says you can call her at any time if you need her but obviously..." Cynthia trailed off, smile slipping from her face in concern.

"They still haven't managed to contact her yet?" Ruth wasn't so concerned, but she _was _curious. She didn't see Lisa so much anyway as they shared no shifts. But whenever Ruth had caught a glance of the media 'hero', she seemed suspiciously distracted. A little too self involved and unapproachable to ever become friend material, unlike Cynthia. but a dead body found on your co worker's floor _was _fascinating stuff.

Cynthia sighed, pretty face clouding over with genuine concern that was so real it was almost tangible to Ruth. "No. There's apparently no trace of her. Not that the police are trying very hard anyway..."

"What makes you say that?" This gossip was getting better by the minute.

"Well you think they would put her on the news at least." They had only found out through a round of unwelcome questions by the police and work-place gossip. Cynthia gabbled, "They just don't seem to be interested. It's like when they were supposedly trying to find Mr Keefe's would-be killers, they just sort of lost interest. I think -"

She broke off, sensing she had said too much (as always) or maybe because she didn't care for the greedy look of curiosity on Ruth's face.

"I have to go." She shrugged on her light blue duffle coat and grabbed her purse. "Have a good shift."

"Thanks." Ruth called out. "And be careful." She winced as it slipped out. If there was anything that would scare a girl like Cynthia, it would be saying things like that. But then again, Ruth decided, a girl could never be too careful.

As Cynthia left through the side door marked Employee Car Park, Ruth thought she saw a shadowy figure shift from outside the main entrance glass doors. She dismissed it though, and forgot about it almost immediately afterwards. It was night time after all, and the darkness does play tricks on the mind.

* * *

"Score!" Lisa announced, fingers wrapping around the crow bar with appreciation. Then she mentally scolded herself. This was a potential murder weapon that she had just found in the boot of the car, so her joy was premature (and a little creepy). The hard part wasn't over yet. Could she really use on somebody? Smash a skull with it? Use it to kill someone?

She thought that after all she had been through, she probably could. But that didn't mean she had to like that answer.

Purely out of habit, she locked the car door, smoothed out her clothes and pulled the too-big jacket on over her shoulders with a pang of regret. She had found it on the back seat and was stupidly grateful as she hid the crow bar inside. The pleasant smell as it enfolded her body made her feel momentarily sad. She didn't care how mad it sounded, she desperately wished that Jackson was there with her. Her mind rationalised that it was reasonable. He could take care of himself after all, but she knew it was more then that.

She left that horror of a motor parked around the corner from the Lux, jogging lightly towards the entrance on legs that were wobbly from their long journey behind the wheel. She silently pleaded that Cynthia would be there, her usual smiley self, just getting ready to clock off. She realised she would give anything to make sure Cynthia remained unharmed. Buried deep within her mind was the notion that all of this was her fault. She had drawn her friend into this, so she had to get her out of if. She had to make her be okay. As these thoughts occurred to her, she reached the double doors and felt her heart sink more than usual at the sight of Ruth.

"Shit." She shakily ran her hands through her hair, keeping out of view from behind one of the fancy potted trees that stood either side of the entrance. The once comforting lights of the hotel left her feeling dangerously exposed instead of reassured.

She noticed the grand clock in the reception read approximately four minutes past twelve, and a deep dread consumed her from within.

"Oh no..." She whispered through numb lips, trying to summon that steely resolve she had come to depend upon so much during the darkest moments of her life.

She was going to have to check the employee's parking lot. There was no other way around it. The one that was underground. And dark. And familiar... So much like the car park where she had been attacked all those years ago. "But it's not." She whispered determinedly, slipping around to that side car park she never used.

If she had been thinking rationally, she could have called hotel security, or at least enlisted the help of bossy Ruth, but she wasn't thinking straight. She had the absurd notion that this was completely her fault, and was not willing to drag someone else into this surreal mess that had become her life.

She reached the entrance and looked into the unappealing dimness, trying to see her friend - willing her to be there and to be alright. All employees had reserved parking near the entrance, but Lisa could see nothing.

"Cynthia?" She called out weakly, voice echoing back in a mocking manner. She clamped her hand over her mouth in horror almost immediately after. If there was someone waiting in there with murder in mind, she didn't want to let them know she was coming.

And so, shaking and close to tears, she gathered all of her strength and cautiously ducked under the wooden parking barrier and into the gloom. A familiar state of mind washed over her and she welcomed it. It was cold and apathetic. It was the feeling you get when you have to do something that needs to be done, and you see it though to the end - whether you want to or not. It was labelled the 'no turning back' stage in Lisa's mind.

Jackson would have understood.

* * *

Cynthia shivered slightly and pulled her jacket around her tiny frame. Her heels clacked noisily as she made her way to her little blue mini, pulling her keys out of her bag as she...

Stopped.

She thought she had heard a cough. A man's single, rusty cough. But it was stifled straight away - as soon as she had noticed it in fact - which made her apprehensive.

_Probably one of the guests you great quaking moose._

The memory of one of her Grandmother's old phrases made a little smile appear on her lips, but still she felt nervous. It _felt _like she was being watched...

She took a couple of quick steps towards her car, now positive that someone was watching near by. She could _feel _them. The sensation was over powering. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her legs speed up on their own volition. She heard a rustling sound that she didn't care for at all. She hesitated, scanning the car park with wide eyes as she continued to move, scurrying timidly, licking her lips nervously - a habit she wasn't aware of... She quickened her pace now, almost running, so close to her car.

She made it, fumbled with the locks, clumsily pushing her hair out of her eyes. She tried to jam the key in the lock, but fear makes us do stupid things. She held it the wrong way, upside down so that it wouldn't slide in to grant her passage to the safety of her vehicle. And that's when He made his move. That one little mistake made him act rashly instead of waiting. Hands mercilessly clamped around her neck from behind and squeezed tightly.

The keys fell to the floor with a clatter as she struggled madly, blindly lashing out, flailing, panicking… A silent scream amplified the red-raw pain in her throat as she began to sink to her knees. She could not string together a coherent thought, but if sweet Cynthia's could speak there would be one thing she would say, and that was, why? A testimony to her character. Tears streamed down her face as evil black flowers hatefully bloomed in front of her vision.

Lisa would have understood.

Lisa fought the urge to call out to her friend again, a bubble of panic welling inside.

_Oh god, where are you? Where are you Cynthia? Please be alright… Please, please, please…_

But then she heard a clattering sound, like metal against concrete or keys hitting the floor. She hesitated, gripping the crow bar tighter before instinctively moving towards it at a silent speed that rivalled any of Jackson's.

She ducked behind a pillar, hearing definite sounds of a struggle from behind. Gasps and the frenzied rustling of material. She withdrew the long pole from Jackson's jacket, no longer feeling its weight anymore. Then she looked.

All she could see was a large shape leaning over a slumped and feebly struggling figure.

A broken figure.

Cynthia.

Something within her snapped. This was _her _life. That was _her _friend. Could they not just let her get on with what was left of her life in peace? Maybe not, but Cynthia was still innocent. She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve this at all. A blind rage overcame her as she charged at the figure and swung the crow bar into the assassin's back with a roar of effort.

He let out a satisfying yelp of pain and surprise, spine cracking as he released Cynthia so the she fell unconsciously on her front on the car park floor, as weightless and silent as a rag doll.

"Cythi -" It was the most Lisa got out before the killer turned on her, face purple with rage. He wore black on black, was huge and ugly. His eyes were an impenetrably dark brown and his teeth were bared in a grimace of rage.

_No wonder they let Jackson do all the talking... _Lisa thought incoherently from panic, but not without some amusement.

He charged at her like a bull, taking her by surprise. Perhaps she had imagined the nasty cracking sound in his spine before, because he definitely had enough strength to knock her to the floor, winding her from the impact.

"Aaack!" The crow bar clattered uselessly out of her hands and she strained to reach it. He snatched her wrist and twisted it without mercy until she felt a crack followed by blinding hot pain. Now she screamed. Now she was as loud as she could be.

He slammed her head to the floor, and her voice was effectively lost in a sea of groggy pain.

"Miss Reisert, we've been looking for you." His voice was smooth for such a gruff, angry man, and sinisterly professional. He placed a grubby hand across her mouth to her horror and he leered over her on his knees.

"You've been a lot of trouble," he continued silkily, "So I think we'll just do this properly don't you?"

His words and weight reminded her of her attacker. The attacker. A horror filled thought occurred to her: maybe he was going to replicate that situation? Tears coursed down her face and she began to struggle once more, remembering her vow that she would never let it happen again.

"This is cosy isn't it?" He sneered, leaning closer so his hot breath was in her face. She bit his hand and lashed out, causing him to yell in fury. But another head slam to the floor soon ended her weak attempts. "Don't fight me." He soothed, pulling out a sleek and deadly gun, she froze with fear, eyes wide, heart pounding.

She saw two guns, vision doubling as the terrifying image swam in front of her. There would be no messing around this time, in such a public venue. And she knew it would be covered up, perhaps it would be labelled as a mugging gone wrong. She tore her eyes away from the cold, dark tunnel that contained a bullet with her name on it. A weapon that held her own death. She saw Cynthia, stirring feebly and felt a chilling and hopeless fear. She had failed her, failed them both - herself, Cynthia and her poor Father. She was helpless and she was sorry.

Time seemed to slow. She took a deep breath and held it as a certain face occurred to her. She bit her lip, sure that his face shouldn't be the last thing she should think of. _Does it matter now anyway?_

She was lost within her more comforting thoughts and managed to find a little peace within them. He thumbed the safety back with careful precision, aiming between the eyes, less than a meter away and -

Her attacker was knocked off of her with a force that was astounding. It was so overwhelming that even she rolled on to her side, chest heaving with pain and relief at this sudden, unexpected freedom. She heard both figures fall to her right with painful grunts. She stupidly thought it was Cynthia who had tackled her latest attacker, head hazy with pain, but she soon found that to not be true. She sat up slowly, cursing her hazy reactions, head spinning sickeningly. She tuned her gaze to the right and saw two distinctly male figures, grappling on the floor.

"Security?" She gasped, slurring. "He has a gun…"

"No shit!" A familiar voice yelled sarcastically and her heart filled with a joy that was so intense she almost forgot the seriousness of the situation. This couldn't be real, could it? Maybe he had pulled the trigger and she was dead. But if Jackson was here too, was this heaven or hell to her? Funny how she couldn't answer that anymore.

"Jackson?" She whispered in shock.

He ignored her, clearly fighting for his life, hands gripping the weapon that the assassin still held, tugging desperately, trying to point it somewhere other than in his direction.

Her attacker managed to roll on top of Jackson, clearly heavier, and Lisa was forcefully reminded of animals in the wild, perhaps two lions, trapped in a death fight. Jackson certainly roared in pain.

That was enough to snap her out of her trance.

"Jackson!" She called out helplessly.

The feeling that this was all a dream washed away and she crawled towards her trusty crowbar, intending to smash every bone in the assassin's body if she had to. She triumphantly grasped it with her weaker left hand, shrieking in pain as she put pressure on her broken right wrist as she tried to get to her feet.

"Lisa!" Remarkably, instead of sounding afraid or in pain, Jackson managed to sound majorly pissed off with - presumably - her slow reaction time.

"Oh!" She rushed towards the thrashing men with her bar raised. Jackson was still being crushed beneath the weight of the assailant. She swung it back, feeling the weight once more as her strength was still greatly reduced, all of her effort focused on merely standing.

She sways but manages to strike his back again with considerable force.

"Ah!" His body collapses on Jackson as his spine gives out and -

There is a shot.

A gun shot, silenced slightly, but clearly audible.

Time slows down once more and Lisa's world fades to grey. She can hear screaming and it takes her a while to realise it's coming from her.

It's just too much. She is sure that it has hit Jackson…

Both figures lie completely still. The assassin is slumped against Jackson's body, lying still. But then it shifts.

"Urgh, little help woman?"  
Jackson's voice pierces her thoughts and it is the only sound that matters. Her knees lock together and she drops the crow bar with a loud clang as Jackson rolls the limp and lifeless body off of him, blood staining his white shirt as it flows from the assassin on to him.

She hears the sickening death thump again as the body hits the floor, but this time it doesn't bother her so much. The only people that mattered were still alive. _He _was alive. Jackson shakily gets to his feet, smiling that mischievous and slightly abashed smile of his and…

It simply melts her heart.

"You came back." She whispers, hardly aware that she is saying it. He folds his hands over his stomach, smile slipping slightly as he wavers on his feet.

It's enough to unfreeze her stance. She moves to him, lost in those eyes. He takes a tentative step forward, looking unsure of himself for once. It is a rare sight to see but she welcomes it. She is shaking from shock but is nervous herself. Where do they go from here? Part of her wants to pummel him senseless, another wants him to hold her until she stops shaking from shock.

Another part of her wants to kiss him madly, desperately, angrily, gratefully - just to reassure herself that he is actually here. He _did _care. They're both alive…

This is what she decides to do. There weren't any other options really.

She reaches him and is unsure of what to do. She follows her instincts and cups his cheek gently with her good hand and repeats: "You came back."

He removes one hand from his stomach, reaching to draw her closer. His silence is intense and oddly beautiful, just like him. She just knows something is being decided in that mind of his, and wishes she knew what it was. Maybe some barriers are disappearing, maybe he's constructing the perfect reply…

Instead he doubles over.

"Jackson?" She cries out the question, gripping his shoulders. It seems to be all she is capable of saying lately.

He looks at her sadly, eyes appealing, soft smile still in place.

He manages to stand straight with some effort. He moves his hands away from his stomach.

They are coated with blood.

Fresh blood.

_His _blood.

Her mouth falls open and it feels like her world is spinning again.

Their eyes lock and he falls to his knees, with a cry of pain.

"No, no, no, no…" Lisa repeats it desperately, as if denying it would erase the awful truth. She grabs at him and he pulls her to her knees as he falls, clutching at each others shoulders.

"Damn," He gulps, "Too slow."


	11. Chapter 11

**For those still interested - thank you! - and enjoy...**

**I'll let you draw your own conclusions from the ending.**

* * *

She waits.

This is where it really began. Where they both began to feel. Where home truths were first exchanged.  
She shivers despite the baking heat as she leans against the car bonnet. She can pretend that he is still here, can imagine what her life would have been like if she hadn't left. Can still feel his embrace and the memory of less gentle touches.

She wonders... And waits.

* * *

She can see blood in his mouth.

The sight of it terrifies her more than any gun ever did.

He struggles to bat her comforting arms away, not wanting any sympathy from her. He doesn't want it because he felt he didn't deserve it. Not at all.

"Hey! Lie still." She commanded, fear shaking her voice. She forced him to lie down, head in her lap so she could press against the wound with her hands, wincing from the throbbing pain in her right wrist.

"Huh," He swallows, coughing a little, "Got me with my own knife, how about that?"

He tries to sound light, topical even, but fails. Pain seeps into every syllable and he gasps uncontrollably. His eyes begin to glaze with a feverish haze and beads of sweat form against his too-pale skin. He suddenly lacks that bright and vivacious look that she had come to admire so much. Now he just looked tired.

"Don't you do this you idiot," she hisses fiercely. "Don't you dare."

She shrugs out his jacket and presses it against the wound. The dark material becomes instantly wet at a rate that is alarming. Pain flares hotly in her wrist and she lets out a gasp that Jackson eventually notices, less observant than usual.

"What's wrong with your hand?"

"Doesn't matter."

His face creases with pain as a frown darkens his expression even more. "Looks broken."

She shrugs, "Never mind me, I've gotta get an ambulance. Can you keep applying the pressure?"

"No." He fills the negative with last of his strength and she doubts it is in response to the pressure question.

Her eyes narrow. "You need to go to hospital Jackson."

"Can't." He winces, "Maybe you and the receptionist should though."

"We all will." She adds determinedly, "I'm going to go and get help -"

"No." His horrified tone was filled with panic, as if she had asked, 'Shall I fetch the poison?' instead.

"I'm not letting you die for me." She lets out a single wretched sob, strength finally breaking. She takes a deep breath as he stares at her, eyes now wide with surprise, studying her every move. She regroups, and plasters a shaky smile over her face, back-tracking. "You're going to be okay."

"I don't know Leese," He slurs, almost sounding drunk. "Fat lady's singing."

"Shut up." She orders, an edge of desperation seeping into her voice. She gives him a brutal shake as those brilliant eyes begin to droop.

When he fails to react, she shakes him harder and his eyes flash open, looking incredibly annoyed with her. To Lisa, it is a wonderful sight and she smiles.

"Damn it woman, what are you trying to do - kill me?" He snorts with laughter which is abruptly cut short by a painful coughing fit.

"No, piss you off." She retorted, wanting him to stay focused, "This is your jacket by the way."

His face was ashen and sweating, but a comical look of shock filled it with life. "That's Armani! It's worth a fortune!" He actually looked horrified and she resisted the urge to laugh.

"Not anymore."

He groans, but this time it is filled with exasperation. Lisa doesn't mind at all.

"You're welcome."

"Kill me now." He mumbles, managing an eye roll.

"Lisa?" A weak voice filled with pain and confusion interrupts their bizarre conversation.

"Cynthia!" Lisa catches sight of her friend. Her eyes are weary as she sits in a heap on the floor, clutching at her throat. Her eyes brimming with tears,

"What's happening? Where did you come from? Is he gone?" Her voice trembles and breaks in a painful way that Lisa is only too familiar with. She feels a stab of sympathy for her friend.

_If she's still your friend..._

"There's not enough time to explain, I'm so sorry Cynthia. Are you okay?"

"Who is _that_?" Cynthia's voice reaches the highest octaves and Lisa just knows that she's going to be okay. But her attention is firmly fixed on Jackson who looked mildly amused yet worryingly pale throughout their exchange. Lisa can't tell if her friend means the dead body nearby or Jackson.

"Doesn't matter, do you have your cell? We need an ambulance."

"No we don't!"

"Shut up Jackson."

"Oh great. One little stab wound and she's ordering me around." He tries to sound strong and amused, but his voice wavers terribly.

"Not on me - what's happening?" Cynthia repeats it, sounding like a lost little girl. "Is that Jackson? _The _Jackson?"

"Please stop asking questions. Just run to reception and get them to call for help."

"I don't understand -"

"Please Cynthia?!" The desperation contained within Lisa's voice was enough to force her to listen.

"Okay, okay..." Lisa hears her pick herself up. But she can't resist the urge to ask another question in a little voice. "Did he strangle me?"

Lisa hesitated, feeling the strangest mixture of shock and outrage at the question. But Cynthia's conclusion wasn't so crazy really. She had told her friend about Jackson and now here she was, one strangulation session later, tending his wounds and begging for his life. No wonder Cynthia was confused.

"No Cynthia." She fixed her friend with a desperate, watery gaze. "He saved our lives. Both of our lives."

She didn't know what Cynthia saw within that look, but it made her scamper to the employee's entrance, back to the comfort of civilisation (even if it was only Ruth she would find).

"Wow I'm famous." Jackson whispered, coughing a little.

"Ssh help's on its way."

His blazing eyes fixed hers with an intensity that was burning, "You know I can't accept that. They'll kill me where I sleep."

"I won't let them."

It slips out fiercely, instantly. Their eyes lock and his expression softens.

"Sorry I took so long." His voice shakes now.

She shakes her head as if to dismiss his sad words. "At least you did come... How did you get here anyway?"

"Motorbike in the shed," He replies and she nods as if she understands. She hadn't noticed a shed before, but doesn't want him to force any more painful words out. He does anyway. "I would have come here earlier, but I was so pissed at you... Plus you kicked me in the balls so the ride wasn't too smooth."

She laughs at that, feeling a stab of regret. "I couldn't just let her die Jackson, you know that."

He frowns suddenly, gasping. She doesn't know whether the look is caused from the pain or her answer. "I know you couldn't. You're a good person."

Her laugh is short and harsh. "I don't know about that anymore."

"You are." He says it like it is an indisputable fact and she draws a strange kind of strength from it. But hasn't he always made her feel stronger? Even as when tried to break her will, she became stronger. "I guess that's why I was so mad. I wanted you to stay in the dark with me." His words slur together now, and she wonders whether he's even aware that he was still talking.

She pushes a damp lock of hair away from his eyes tenderly, the unconscious gesture of a loved one. "Why are you here?" She feels guilty as soon as the question slips out, knowing she's taking advantage of his pain.

His eyes slip shut.

"Jackson?" She's taken aback by the desperate edge in her voice, as is he it seemed.

"Chill..." He slurs with a sardonic smile. "Here to stop you killing yourself."

"Why?"

Silence.

She shakes him. "You tell me why right now Jack Rippner."

"... Bitch." He mumbles presumably in response to the use of his much hated nickname.

"Tell me why." She's begging him now, tears streaming down her face but she doesn't care, doesn't even notice.

His soft smile still manages to taunt her though those haunting eyes remain closed. "...Because you make me feel."

His answer is so quiet she thinks she must have misheard him. Deep down, she knows she hasn't. It terrifies her and breaks her heart in equal measure because she cannot comprehend it. She had always forced herself to think that he was a monster, but if monsters could feel... Maybe it was okay for her to feel for him too? It didn't make sense. How could his words affect her so? She knew that the worst part of his confession truly was. This new discovery, this revelation, however twistedly beautiful it may be, was going to be torn away from her soon.

His breathing slowed into laboured struggles.

"Jackson please...Where is that ambulance?!" She shouts, gripping his hand and his fingers feebly locked around hers. Only then did she realise it was her broken hand that he held. Pain pulsed through her wrist and she welcomed it gladly, gasping slightly.

"Sorry you got hurt." He exhales it softly, making her jump. She thought he was gone already.

"Don't die because of me." She begs, marvelling at how badly she wanted it. How badly she wanted this man, who had orchestrated many deaths, to stay alive. She didn't care if it was selfish or not. It was just what she felt and to deny it would be a lie.

"Thank you." He whispers, smile fading away as if it were never there at all.

* * *

She waits.

She's where it really began. When they both began to feel. Where half truths were exchanged.

She straightens up a little, staring at the ugly little shack where he had taken her to be with him. To protect her. He could pretend to hate her all he wanted, but she knew the truth, now it was too late.

_"Okay...Well it's hardly house-beautiful..."_

She smiles sadly at the memory and cups her hands above her eyes to lessen the angry glare from the sun. A twinge of pain passes through her hand with the bulky splint that covers it, a ghost of the break that had nearly healed. She hears a car approaching over the beaten gravel, but doesn't turn. She doesn't need to.

He had gone to the hospital. As had Cynthia. She had even used her own insurance, got her story straight with her friend and the police regarding the dead man (lied).

She had actually fooled herself into thinking things would be fine. But then they wouldn't let her see Jackson. Then came the excuses. They wouldn't even tell her if he was going to be okay.

_"They'll kill me where I sleep."_

_"I won't let them." _

She had let him down completely. Why was he always able to save her, yet she couldn't keep a simple promise?

Then the puzzled looks came once more. The _'Jackson who?'s. _The lies, the speculation, the accusations that were beginning to form. It all became too much.

So she ran.

She ran to cheap motels and used a false name. It was crazy. Unreal. Lonely. She missed her old life and hated this new one that had been forced upon her. She missed her Father. She hated Jackson for the mess he had left behind and for making her feel.

There were shadows of Jackson in every corner, echoes of his memory. But echoes weren't enough. So she'd returned to that place. Though it was empty, she found she couldn't leave. It was peaceful, off the grid, and her only reminder that he was real at all.

Until now.

Arms slowly slip around her waist from behind, surprisingly gentle. They are warm and comfortingly familiar. Her breath hitches in surprise and pleasure. She doesn't turn, tries not to acknowledge this new presence in fear that it would fade away just like the bruises he gave her. She cannot contain a smile though. But it's okay because she can feel him smiling too, face buried in her soft hair.

"I thought you were..."

_Dead, gone, a dream, soulless, lost to me...?_

Perhaps it doesn't need to be said.

He knows. He knows _her_ - a truth she found upsetting at first but not anymore.

"What do we do now?"

He doesn't answer and her tears threaten to fall.


End file.
